Struggling Well With Life

My parents were dancers. They dated riding the trolley car over the causeway into Atlantic City, and on the end of the Steel Pier danced to some of the greatest bands of their times, like Glen Miller and others. As a kid I remember them dressing up in these hideous clown looking outfits and headed out to square dancing events for years. I went to a city school where dance was common place. My high-school reminds me of that old show “Fame”. It was not uncommon for folks to just break out and break down into dance. Then I married a missionary girl who was raised with NO dance, and extremely conservative in upbringing and expression. Our wedding reception was lovely, but 400 folks sitting around eating finger foods and talking lacked some level of celebration. So over the last 20 years of marriage Terri and I have attended other’s celebrations where my sweet wife would give me a slow dance or two, but was self conscious and uncomfortable. “Bless her heart”. But, something has happened, something big. We were in Texas this past weekend marrying a girl who used to be in our youth ministry here back in the day, and when the band cranked up, so did Terri. She pulled me from my chair and off to the dance floor we went. I think I am in decent shape and have a moderate degree of stamina, but after a while I had to sit out. Not Terri. She just turned and started dancing with the bride, and the bridesmaids, and the mother of the bride, and then when there was no one else to dance with she danced by herself. I stood on an elevated deck looking down at her, and when she caught me enjoying the sight, her face beamed, and she just kept dancing. This has been an evolution over the last couple of years, but Saturday night she was in her glory - and her dancing has improved too. I asked her about this dramatic shift to which she laughed and said, I’m free.