Blindfold Dancing

Another game?  I was kind of anxious for this thing to just be over with.

It’s a terrible thing for the retreat speaker to say, I adore these ladies and we’d had a fabulous time, but it was late Saturday night, I had one more session and a long drive home ahead, and I’d just heard some disturbing news and was eager to get back home and deal with it. (You know, since it all depends on me. *smile*)

Instead, while I inwardly wrangled that worry down like a wild crocodile … they were going to play a dancing version of musical chairs.

Really? I have a thousand worries tossing to and fro inside, this crazy storm brewing in my soul and I’m sitting here watching musical chairs? Deep breath.

Ok, Lord, I trust You, I’ll look for you here. 

These precious ladies situated themselves in a large circle. The leader began explaining the rules, and I was struck afresh by her joviality and joy, her easy-going attitude about everything, especially since she’s got seven kids at home including a 16-year-old daughter with Downs Syndrome.

The “chairs” for this game were the 5-gallon bean-buckets from her pantry. Someone sits on pinto, another on Great Northern. This lady knows mundane faith.

But as the five chosen contestants situated themselves around the musical buckets, she interrupts my daydreaming admiration by mentioning the final detail:

“Oh, and you’ll be dancing blindfolded.” 

My interest piques every so slightly. Blindfold dancing? I’ve seen this before, at a college retreat, and can attest to the fact that it is, perhaps, the funniest thing on the planet.

But this was even better.

This was a group, not of college students who are used to being footloose and free, this was a group of middle-aged women. This was a group wearing color-coordinating eternity-scarves and neat strands of pearls. These were Bible-carrying, verse-referencing, polite, respectable women.

I watched their faces as they were handed blindfolds: Not thrilled.

But then something happened. With the blindfolds secure and the sight of all of the rest of us completely removed from their vision, the music started, and lo and behold …

These girls could dance.

“Because I’m happy! Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof…”

Pretty soon our amusement turned to chuckles turned to laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. Tears spilling over. I had watched these ladies all weekend long; this was not their norm.

Ever-careful, ever-measured movements gone. They were free. 

Something in that room transformed. It was beautiful. They were beautiful. Joyful, unhindered exuberant dancing. I watched them and couldn’t help but pray, Lord let me live like that.

No, not making a fool of myself. *smile*

I mean, it is a ridiculous comedic version of Peter walking on water. Right?

“‘Lord! If it is you, command me to come to You on the water.’ And Jesus said, ‘Come!'” (Matt. 14:28)

As soon as Peter heard that beautiful music, the voice of Jesus calling, Come, Peter became blessedly blind to the crashing, wild, deadly waves assaulting his senses.  [bctt tweet=”When Peter heard Jesus calling, he became blessedly blind to the waves. “]

The miracle of pure faith: Walking on water, doing what Jesus did, defying physical laws, living by the greater, spiritual ones instead.

But as soon as Peter took that blessed blindfold off, when he looked back down at the waves which rose, incessant, threatening … as soon as he looked back down at this and away from Jesus, he sank.

Jesus is perfect theology. Jesus is truth. Jesus is life.

The fight of faith for me is to blindfold myself to the crashing, wild, deadly waves that assault my senses each day.  To refuse to fix my gaze on all that is unanswered and unclear in this messy sea of life and to fix my soul’s gaze on the face of Jesus, bringing Him my honest questions from a pure heart of faith.

Questions clarify truth and bring life, doubt discourages and brings death.

Jesus, let me hear the music of Your voice, through Your Word. Let me walk based on Your beautiful beckoning, Come!, blindfolded to the onslaught of anti-faith that threatens my senses each day.

Though I may look a little foolish to the world, I know I’ll find an inner victory — faith.

{Dance! Thanks for reading.}