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The Ballerina
by Glenn Frontin In 2 Corinthians chapter 12, Paul speaks of the thorn in the flesh that he endured after asking God three times to take it away. And He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness." Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake. For when I am weak I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:9 Christian men are aware of our culture's war on man's masculinity, but we must also be aware of the opposite extreme. Both secular and spiritual men suffer many of the same vulnerabilities. We strive for success. We respect power. We savor the victories we achieve. We enjoy acceptance and recognition. We have a nature that says we can do it on our own. Humility and humbleness do not come naturally to us. It makes no sense to this world when Paul speaks of strength being found in becoming weak, but scripture tells us God will resist the proud, but gives grace to the humble. The simple fact is that the spiritual soldier will only have victory in battle by learning how to surrender. Not surrendering to the enemy but to his ultimate commander-in-chief, the Lord Jesus Christ. I have found the strong spiritual soldier does not fit any mold. He is not necessarily the man with the strongest physique, the most athletic, the best looks, or the most powerful job. In fact, very often he is the man ignored by the world, or even made fun of. He is the man who knows his relationship with his God and seeks to live by God's will and not his own. The same is true for women. It seems to me that this strength through weakness seems to come more naturally to women than men. We seem to struggle with the concept. Perhaps the best illustration of strength through weakness that I have ever seen occurred at a very unlikely place where I least expected it, not from a brother while I was in the army, where physical and mental toughness abounded, but at an elementary school dance recital. The girls ranged from PreK to 5th grade, the first dance recital for our five-year-old daughter, Emma, and the first for me, since Karen and I had raised two boys. I was sitting up front with the rest of our family and friends, anxiously awaiting the lights to go down and the curtain to open, my video camera ready at a moment's notice. You might think an hour and a half of watching little girls performing ballet and creative dance would be dull, but from the first little angels that glided out onto the stage, we were all enchanted by their enthusiasm and their innocence. They each seemed to have their own way of performing the same dance step and at times the choreography seemed to dissolve right there on stage, only to reappear as the little ballerinas continued. To every daddy there, his little girl was the prettiest and the most graceful in the show and I was no exception. Emma tiptoed out in her flowing blue dress, with a sparkling bodice and spaghetti straps. Her long blond hair was pulled back, still wavy from the curlers Mom had put in that morning. She performed each step with confidence and the biggest smile. Cameras clicked and movie cameras rolled as each group performed. It was truly a blessing for all the families there, but a second, unexpected blessing came later in the show, when the 4th grade girls came out. They were older and had more experience than the little ones. Their number was more intricate with more difficult moves and more complicated choreography. It was a larger group of about twenty girls and they moved across the stage as one, all except one young girl. I didn't even catch it at first as the dance began, but I noticed someone now and then would be out of step here and there. After a whole evening of little girls being out of step I had grown used to it, but I finally realized this girl was different. Her right hand was not fully formed as neither was her right foot. Her movements, though correct, were sometimes erratic and unsteady, struggling to keep up with the other girls. I found myself cheering her on as she performed, falling out of step, then a moment later back in position with the rest of the dancers. Though you could tell she was concentrating as hard as she could, her face beamed with delight and a bright smile never left her face. Tonight she was a ballerina. Even during my years as a paratrooper I had not seen such toughness, resilience, and bravery, but somehow in her sometimes awkward moments and her shining smile, I witnessed a sense of strength and courage along with a vision of grace. I thought of her dad somewhere in the dark audience, a daddy who would do anything to heal his little girl. He probably held his breath through the whole dance, probably not praying so much that she do as well as the other dancers but that she would simply enjoy being there. Talk about courage. How much easier it would have been to tell her she simply couldn't do it, trying to avoid any more pain or disappointment in her life. I prayed for her parents, hoping God had somehow reassured them of His love and His purpose in all things, while honestly being thankful that though Emma had been a so-called "high risk" pregnancy, she was born physically healthy. I thought of the wisdom and compassion of the dance teacher. Again, it would have been easy to say she couldn't participate with the other girls. One could only wonder what lessons those girls and that teacher learned from watching this brave dancer each week. She was right on queue when the music ended. She had finished well, out of breath, but her smile even brighter than ever. After the show, I spotted the little girl seated against the wall with her friends. On impulse I walked over and crouched down to be eye to eye with her. She was even prettier close up, her face with glittery makeup, her hair intricately braided, still beaming from the magic of the night. "You were beautiful out there," I said. She looked at me, sat up even straighter and simply said, "Thank you," and smiled. I was thankful to her for the wonderful reminder of being grateful for what we have been given and having courage and grace under those tough circumstances that come in our lives. Aren't we just like that little girl when it comes to our Christian lives? We get out of step at times. We stumble, sometimes falling flat on our faces, but just like the loving dad that was somewhere out there in that audience, our Heavenly Father, in all His mercy and grace, sees us as His perfect children. He is not interested in us being the best, just doing our best, even with all the limitations we think we have in our lives. And my thanks to those courageous parents who reminded me I need to be just as courageous as a dad. And to a compassionate teacher, who taught me I must never lose my compassion for those He brings into my life. And to a little ballerina, who had a dream to dance, who proved you face any obstacle in your life, and even do it with a smile. Glenn Frontin is the author of A River Calling, a book for Christian dads raising sons. It takes the reader down the entire length of the Missouri River, filled with wilderness adventure, Lewis and Clark history, military training, spiritual warfare; all the stuff guys love...all the stuff we love. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |