Confessions of a First Time Salsa Dancer

There's moments of being found.

Do you believe that?

When you come to, or become aware, of a situation or a circumstance or a progression forming before your eyes. An awakening, of sorts. A "moment".

I had a moment like that last night. I found myself at a beginner's salsa class. Me, the girl who has less natural rhythm than Elaine from Seinfeld. Me, the girl who struggles to just do Zumba every other Thursday for exercise without keeling over, found herself salsa-dancing with a talented instructor.

One two three. Five six seven.

One two three. Five six seven.

Our small group learned the basic moves. Then there were more girls than men, so we paired off and rotated. The instructor kept calling a reminder to the other male dancer to help him remember to count. "Seven is the magic number!"

Seven. The number of completion.

Well, there were definitely moments I was certain my humiliation was complete....

We kept practicing. Kept dancing. One two three. Five six seven.

The instructor taught us to follow the man's signals as to what step was next based on the slight pressure applied to our joined hands.

Then we added a more advanced step. Then a turn.

The woman next to me panicked over the idea of adding anything more complicated to the mix. After she had tried a few times, the instructor told her with a smile, "But don't you see? You're not worried about the basic moves anymore. See how far you've come? Ten minutes ago you were still trying to count to three. You were worried about the basics. Now that's all muscle memory and you're only thinking about the turn. You'll get this too."

I think that truth blew her mind.

Because it was true. We were learning. What was hard a few minutes ago was now a non-issue. We were pressing ahead.

We kept dancing.

Basic. Sideways. Basic. Sideways. Cuban Open. Cuban Open. Basic. Turn.

I warned the instructor I might step on his toes.

One two three. Five six seven.

I kept staring at my feet. Yet my instructor kept smiling, tapping my chin. Reminder. "Eyes up."
I'd forget, and watch my feet again. Watch His feet. "Eyes up." Oops. Try again.

I stumbled. I faltered. I hesitated. Then I'd nail it perfectly. Stumble. Fail. Succeed.

We learned a new step, and this time he said the women had to close their eyes. Let the male lead do the leading and just feel it. Trust it.

One two three. Five six seven.

This morning, I was struggling in my heart. Why were some of the things I've died to still haunting me? Why was THIS still so hard and why was THAT still in the back of my mind and how come I couldn't shake free of THIS that I wanted to so badly? Why was the battle to be free so constant? What steps were I doing wrong? What was I missing?

And Jesus said eyes up.

He reminded me I've been watching my feet. Focusing on the steps. Trying to get it all down perfectly. Trying to force what should be natural and flowing. Trying to dictate a formula to freedom that didn't exist.

Sometimes there aren't steps. There's just music.

I was so worried about stepping on Jesus' toes I'd forgotten that He simply wanted to dance with me. "You're going to stumble. You're going to falter. You're going to hesitate." And I sensed Him smiling. "But then you're going to get it."

He's there, keeping rhythm. He's there, leading. When I'm weak and unsure, I can close my eyes and trust and feel it. And I can open my eyes and appreciate His nearness and the fact that He has me and lean into His signals. I can stumble and falter and hesitate or perform a flawless turn, and it's all the same to Him.

He just wants to dance with me.

Eyes up.

One two three. Five six seven.

Completion.