Dance: The Storm Within

(Title courtesy of Michael. Doesn't really apply, but it made me laugh.)

The last time Amy took ballet lessons she was four years old. She liked it when classes began, but that was before the “frog jumps.” She had to squat down and then jump up, like a frog. Clever name. But she hated that exercise. She hated it so much she begged me to let her quit her lessons. Finishing what we start is kind of a big deal to us, so we made her finish the year, but when the recital was over, she said, “Now I’m done with the frog jumps!” And she never went back to ballet.

But last fall, she decided she wanted to give it another try. So we signed her up and she took a weekly lesson. We enjoyed that she seemed to be enjoying it, but we didn’t really pay much attention to it.

Until the recital.

We went to the recital, excited to see her dance, but not really sure what to expect. There were several groups before hers, and when we finally got to hers, I whispered to Sean, “This is it!” But when the lights came up, there was no Amy. Her classmates were on the stage, but Amy was nowhere to be found. The music started, the dancers began dancing, and I got concerned. I thought she must have gotten sick; I told Sean that I was going to find her. And as soon as I got up, out she came.

She was beautiful. Beautiful. I teared up. Sean teared up. Michael and Rebecca laughed at us. But we were amazed. She’d come a long way from those frog jumps.

She's not excited that I'm posting this, but I can't help myself. I'm pulling the proud mom card. She comes in at :43.

Good news is with all this newfound grace she won’t likely show up on one of these dance bloopers:



Happy weekend!