Dancing on Sunday

When I was thirteen years old I completed Confirmation class and was confirmed as a member of my church. For two years my little group of junior high friends and I met weekly in a tiny room with our pastor in the basement of our church. We gathered faithfully to learn the theology, liturgy, and sacraments of the church. (If I was to be completely honest at this juncture, I would have to confess to some ulterior motivation in the form of fetching young male classmates.) It was an officious day when we all, robed in white, trooped to the front of the church to be ceremoniously welcomed into church membership.

The best thing about the morning was that we all knew our pastor, whom we deeply admired, had chosen a special Bible verse for each of us. He would publicly bestow our verse upon us, and present us with a plaque bearing our designated reference. I could hardly wait to hear his handpicked promise for me … expressly chosen to represent my unique personality and potential. I listened as my classmates received verses like, “All things work together for good to those that love the Lord,” and “… nothing shall be able to separate you from the love of God,” and "...you will run and not grow weary, you will walk and not be faint." Cool promises! I could hardly wait for mine.

“Georgeann, ‘In quietness and confidence shall be your strength.’ ” Say WHAT?!?!? No cool factor there! I wanted to have all things work together for good for me ... I wanted to run and not grow weary! I felt robbed. I slunk back to my pew, undone. He sure must not have thought much of my capacity for attaining Christian success. Quiet? Me?!? Was he giving me a cloaked message? Implying that I was too loud?

The plaque, in its original box and wrap, was stuffed away and forgotten. Until the day, several years later, when I needed it. I came across the battered box, blew the dust off, and gently removed the tissue from around the wood plaque. More than anything at that time in my life, I needed to be quiet … to be still … to listen. I suddenly heard a different message in that little verse. An invitation to rest, to cease my endless striving, to confidently collapse into arms of love and grace. I came to understand that my strength is indeed found in solitude, that quiet listening leads to the trust that is the foundation for confidence.

That confirmation verse has become my life theme – the most precious of many treasured verses. Pastor Nelson knew me better than I knew myself. He knew that one day I would come to understand the wisdom of quietness … and the meaning of “in the stillness, dancing.”

Nobody There

"I see nobody on the road," said Alice.
"I only wish I had such eyes," the King remarked in a fretful tone. "To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance too! Why, it's as much as I can do to see real people, by this light." - Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Oh, how I love Alice. Regardless of what one believes about Carroll’s level of sobriety when he penned the tome featuring her, one must admit that it’s full of some pretty cool quotes – even little pearls of wisdom. More than occasionally, I feel like Alice. Sometimes wandering through a wonderland of fantastic and curious creatures, sometimes tumbling headlong through a dark corridor, the victim of my own impulsiveness and curiosity.

Some find the story of Alice’s journey through the looking glass dark and frightening. I have always found it to be amusing and, often, quite thought-provoking. Take “seeing Nobody on the road,” for instance. You can look at this any number of ways (this IS Alice In Wonderland, after all). For me, today, it speaks to my proneness to put thoughts in other people’s heads. To assume that I know their motives and attitudes. To see the nobody, rather than the real person. Occasionally I am correct. More often, there is really “nobody” there.

I leave a meeting, or a casual conversation, and I begin to rehash the discourse. Before long, I have created a scenario (usually casting a rather dim light on myself) that causes me to worry and fret. Have I said the wrong thing? Have my words painted me in a dim hue? The road must be full (I fret) of people who now see me as inept, insensitive, (insane?) – or in possession of some other equally derogatory character flaw. Before long, I have created a road full of people who really may not exist at all.

How wise the King, to point out the wisdom of just looking at the real people. Of not creating a bunch of “nobodies” on the roads we travel. How sensible to accept what people present to us, and not create for them a reality that may be entirely false.

It’s hard enough to see real people. God help me to resist creating a bunch of nobodies along life’s road.

Little Red Hen

We have a chicken who thinks she is a dog. She lives in a tenement-style rabbit hutch, but when it rains she claims squatter's rights to the dog house. My mom thinks this is chicken abuse. "She needs someplace proper to perch! She has no place to lay her eggs!"

Ah, but she does. She is a free-range chicken and every day (well, every other day, now that she is advancing in age) is Easter in our backyard. You never know where an egg might be found. And if she catches you finding one, she will be sure to hide it better the next time.

Drumstick greets me each morning at the kitchen window (unless I oversleep - she must get on with her day). She watches every move I make at the sink. Watches me fix my breakfast, make coffee. It is as if she is the kitchen foreman, making sure I get the job done right.


Confused identity aside, Drumstick lives her life with purpose. If the hutch door has not been opened by sunrise, her raucous calls rouse us from our sleep. Her routine begins the moment she is sprung from confinement. I can see from whence the author of The Little Red Hen drew her inspiration.

There is only one exception to the routine. When Fred is in the yard working, Drumstick will gladly interrupt her own business to faithfully trail him about the yard, pecking at his knees now and then so he will bend over and scratch her under the chin. (Do chickens have chins?) He is the object of her affection and devotion, always. Priority one.

Drumstick is devoted, purposeful, sassy, and confident. She knows her mind and her turf, and she defends both with ardor. Not a day goes by that she does not attend to her daily chores, disciplined and dedicated.

Sometimes I envy her. She never wonders how to prioritize the duties of the day. Never forgets an appointment. Never regrets words misspoken, or not spoken at all. She knows her place. Knows what she is here to do. And she does it, faithfully. There is a rhythm to her days. She knows to follow that rhythm. Every afternoon she rests. Finds a shady, secluded place in the yard and listens to the quiet.

Ah, to be attuned to the rhythm of life, to truly listen for it, and listen to it. I want to dance to that rhythm.