Trust=Dancing

She was on the dance floor.
She might have seemed out of place—some said she didn’t belong, didn’t fit in—but this was not her concern. She moved with her head held in confidence, yet stunning humility.
A pure light seem to flow from the edges of her flowing white skirt as it yielded to her ever turning movement.

She moved freely—barefoot—full of liberty to dance where few men dared and even fewer continued to follow.
And she danced the fullness of life. Her day to day habits, joys, motions were now here—present inside this life dance.
It was a symbol of her continuous yielding.

She took a step. Eyes closed—the music filled her ears, guided her steps. She was in perfect tune—awaiting the rhythmic leading which would light her next movement. The entire motion of her body came from the heart of Another.
His pulse was her rhythm.
His will— the motion of her steps.
His vision— the glint in her eyes.

Though her upward eyes may rain with crystalline tears—evidence of a pierced heart, which longs to trust, yet doesn’t understand—she kept dancing.
For she knew those moments allowed faith to step in as her dance partner.

And so she moved. No one understood “the why” behind her every step. Even she did not always know why. But who said you had to know why you danced before you did?
Besides— the song of life was already playing.
Are the feet ready? Is the heart?

The song continued. Life beckoned. The dancer yielded to the notes. Her eyes were open, her gaze focused. And then she saw him.
Jesus steps onto the polished hardwood floor. With a gesture, he asked for her hand—not to dance, but to go into something new.
But go where?

Her life had been about motion and movement for so long. But now, he stood before her and asked her to wait –to stop and grab the hand extended before her.

Her lengthened and flowing skirt halted its motion. She tilted her head. Now the purity of her abandoned love was called towards the loose black fabric hanging from his hand.
Why the halt? Why the wait?
She glanced as the fabric in his hand and knew.
No. Not my sight. Why would you take away my sight? How will I dance? How will I know how to move through life?
He gave her time to sort it out. He did not grow impatient or angered. His eyes steady on her—he waited for to decide. She glanced at his pure gaze and finished the battle of her will.

In the same way she yielded to the rhythm’s leading— she would yield to this. She drank in the sights around her for yet a moment more— closed her eyes—and melded her will to his.
He placed the fabric around her eyes. Blind. Un seeing. Not only were her eyes covered—but the fabric wrapped over her ears. Not a sound came in. All music vanished.
Panic rose inside of her—yet a reassuring sense fought it.
For he held her hand—and guided as they danced.
She ceased to trust a set pattern inside a songs composition—rather trust grew from the intimacy and connectedness of his touch.

He led her through many places she did not know—through a pattern of life she failed to grasp with her natural mind. Instead, she discovered she obtained a heart which could genuinely trust and a soul which surrendered to his slightest motion.
Within his touch— if she fell quiet within herself— she detected a renewed pulse. His heart beat.
Inside the rhythmic rush of his pulse, the journey of trust began.