The Pointe Is...

Grace's First Pointe Shoes

Photo by Bgrace

A dancer's first pointe shoes are a major right of passage.  I did not know these things before last year.  The world of dance is all new to me.  When Grace started her pre-pointe class this year, Shari (SDC's owner and one of Grace's teacher's) explained to Grace that she couldn't go "on pointe" until her legs were very straight and her releve was really good.  Shari explained to me that it was important for Grace's muscles to be strong and her alignment straight before she would be ready.  (Here is an interesting link with more info.) 

Grace worked really hard.  I was so proud of her, she was the only girl in her class who didn't have pointe shoes and she didn't complain once.  When Shari told her she was ready for pointe last week she was ecstatic. 

Grace's school had a recital on Saturday and we needed to pick up a pair of leggings. So on Friday I took her and her friend Jade and told her we would at least get her fitted for her shoes.  That fitting took almost 2 hours.  

Finding the right shoe is a very interesting process.  There are so many factors involved.  Grace has never worn pointe shoes before, so she doesn't know how they are supposed to feel.  This is complicated by the fact that each dancer has to decide what kind of feel they are looking for.  Then you have the fact that every make of shoe is different and fits each dancer differently.  On top of which even Grace's own two feet are different.  Then there are the toe pads.  The toe pads can make just as much difference in the fit of the shoe as anything, and there are many different kinds.  

A pointe shoe is not a shoe that you can buy with the idea of growing into.  It must fit perfectly or it could cause injury.  An unfortunate factor considering Grace's feet are still growing.  

Grace finally found a pair she really liked.  After that, every shoe she tried was compared to that fit and feel.  I thought maybe she would change her mind, but she really liked the Grishkos, and stuck with them.  

Once she had settled on her shoes and toe pads the store owner sat down with me and explained how I would have to sew on the ribbons and the elastic for Grace.  I am not a very good seamstress, (Mom,this might be the excuse you needed to come home early.)  but I figure this may be the first of many pointe shoes, so I might as well learn now.  It's interesting--pointe shoes are basically made of paper and glue, with a shank on the back and satin over top.  Not much there for all that leaping and twirling.       

Grace took her pointe shoes to her dress rehearsal yesterday to try them on for Miss Marie and Ms. Shari.  All the girls swarmed around her and hugged her and congratulated her.  They were so excited for her it was really touching.  Miss Marie showed her how to break them in--even how she could drip water on the sides right before class to loosen them up (BUT NOT on the TOE!).  I just shook my head and said to her, "It's amazing how much you don't know that you don't know about all this."  Ms. Shari gave her a very serious talk about not wearing them at all right now unless she was in class.  "These are not toys," she said. "For right now they are only for the dance studio."  Then she looked at Grace and congratulated her.  "You worked very hard for these and I'm very proud of you."  Grace went to put her shoes carefully away and Shari said, "If Grace learns to use her shoes the right way then she won't pick up any bad habits."  

 So this summer Grace will be taking a pointe class along with modern dance (her favorite right now). Her biggest weakness is flexibility, so I told her we'd get a video and I'd do it with her at home.  (Don't you dare laugh!)  Then, with the money that we would normally put toward her dance school tuition, we are planning on going to some professional performances this summer.  (And Aunt Jean might just tag along, especially if we go to NY.)  Ms. Shari thought that was a great idea, "She needs to see where she's going!"

I don't know, I wonder how long Grace will want to do this, and if we will be able to afford it.  But as long as God is in it, and Grace keeps her head about her, we'll take one "pointed" step at a time. 

And in case you are wondering, yes, I did cry when she was trying on her pointe shoes, but I didn't let her see me because she would have rolled her eyes and said, "Mom," in the way that all 10 year old girls do.

I put a few photos of the dress rehearsal up last night after I got back from work. But it was a late night so I didn't have energy to go through all 400 pics. :-) I'm going to put an album together for the teachers and I'll try to put a link up for that there soon. 

Butterflies in the Sand

Photo by Bgrace

The second time I remember seeing butterflies in a way that seemed significant was almost 5 years ago. It is a vague memory, one I wish I had written about more clearly, but I will try to recall the details as best I can.  I was in OC, NJ with the girls, Jean, and my Mom.  I was walking to the beach--I think with both Grace and Em.  An older couple was standing near the entrance to the path to the beach.  The woman had a large pail of shells which one of my girls decided looked very interesting, and so she started to talk to her about it.  She looked sadly at the shells and said, "They are all broken, all the shells I found were broken, but I still thought they were beautiful, so I kept them."  I didn't know why, but I felt like we had just been a part of a "Divine Encounter."
We made our way to the dirt path which led us to the beach.  I looked down at my feet and saw to my dismay what looked like a large bed of butterflies lying dead in the sand.  There were so many of them.  They were deep black and bright orange and when I saw them I felt very sad and then a strong sense of evil.  I shook it off angrily and did not allow myself to entertain any thoughts about it because I thought Satan was using it to speak an evil threat to me about Emily.  God had already told me she would be well, and I planned to believe Him. 
It was only years later, when I spent time in Atlantic City, and the Lord brought it back to my mind that I believed it was the Lord speaking something to me after all.  He had shown me those butterflies for a purpose, but because I was so confused at the time I didn't understand it and couldn't receive it.
In my conversations with the Lord, the butterflies are usually representative of women, younger women mostly, sometimes children.  Most often they are the victims of abuse, usually sexual abuse or even sex trafficking.  I did not know this at the time. (I'll tell you about how I made that connection in a later post. And let me clarify that I never saw Emily as a victim in any related sense.)
I didn't understand that God was showing me about evil, that I was seeing something evil that He wanted me to pay attention to.  When I look back, I realize those butterflies were probably victims of the sand storm that we had experienced the day before.  The storm was too much for them.  The black on their wings felt like it represented evil that weighed them down and took away their will to live.  So much darkness had come against them.  These butterflies were precious, delicate creatures that were dying.  They should have graced the world with such beauty and instead were lying dead in the sand.
It reminds me of Genesis 4:10
"Listen, your brother's blood is crying out to me from the ground!" (God speaking to Cain.)

What I am coming to believe more and more is that the world around us gives evidence of the truth for those who have ears to hear and eyes to see.  But is is only through the Spirit of God that we can understand what is being said, by whom, what it means, and what purpose He has in opening our understanding to it.  That understanding usually comes in pieces and over a length of time, though I believe there are some people who are especially gifted in interpretation.  (I truly wish I were one of them, but that is a gift I am still praying for.)  I'm not sure that we will ever see more than "in part," but that part which God finds important to reveal to us, should never be despised.

My Thought Today

Butterflies by Emily

How often we eye the strong and expect of them more than they are able.
We take our eye off the weak and expect of them nothing at all.
In this gaze and the lack thereof, there is no look of love.

I will post more about the butterflies soon, but wanted to catch up on posting the dialogue between my Dad and I regarding my first butterfly post. If you want to follow our dialogue, you can do so at Conversations with Rev. Dad.

The Butterflies

I've decided to talk about the butterflies in pieces.  Partially because that is how they came to me.  Butterflies have been special to me personally ever since Emily was in my womb.  For each of the girls, I sort of designated an animal.  For Grace it was ducks.  Sarah was supposed to be elephants, but she decided early on she liked cows better.  Emily was butterflies.  When things started to change dramatically in my way of relating with the Lord, (some would call it an anointing, but I honestly don't know what to call it) there were certain things that began to stick out to me. Colors for instance.  Certain people who I was very close to began to be identified for me through colors.  Each of my daughters has a color, Emily's is orange.  I began to see certain things--and have a strong sense that they were forthcoming.  I didn't know if this was true or not, of God or not, something I was to learn to accept and prepare for or to pray against.  I had a sense that some difficulties lay ahead for Emily, and I was very concerned.  I got all sorts of counsel telling me to go in every direction imaginable with what was happening to me, and so I did the only thing I knew to do, I prayed.  A lot. Two separate incidents coincided that I will tell you about, in part. This is going on about five years ago.
I followed the Lord to a yard sale.  It's the only way I know how to describe it.  He basically told me where to take my car.  I had no idea where I was going or what was going to happen when I got there.  But I sensed that I would know when I needed to.  I found the yard sale and there were three items I felt strongly I was to purchase for my children, though I did not fully understand their significance at the time.  The third item Emily found.  (She was three at the time.)  I was over on the other side of the lawn and I overheard her talking to the man in charge.  She was sitting on a little white wooden rocker and calling me over because she wanted it so badly.  The man says to her, "That rocker is for a very special little girl, it's for a special Emily."  Emily's looked at him very matter-of-factly and said, "Well, I'm Emily."  The man looked at me, stunned, and I nodded.  When I walked around to the front, there was Emily's name stenciled at the top. "Well I guess that is your chair then," he said with a laugh.  We took the rocker. 
The rocker came apart and I put in the trunk of my car and forgot about it.  A few days later, I found myself in the midst of the difficult task of withdrawing from seminary.  I was also going to meet my Dad who flew into Philly that week because I had asked him to come home to be with me.  I had some time on my hands after my meeting with the school before my Dad arrived and the Lord led me to the garden at the house of one of my favorite professors. When I say led, I mean I sort of followed a post man there.  The professor was not at home, the Lord had me meet with him at another time, but I sat in his garden anyway. I wish I could describe that whole day to you, but it just seems beyond the realm of words--maybe someday I'll try. I prayed about Emily, and all of a sudden I noticed there was a beautiful off-white butterfly who seemed to be trying to get my attention.  It slowly dawned on me, though at the time I wasn't used to it, that the Lord was saying something to me through the butterfly.  And then as clearly as you can know the color of the sky by looking at it, I knew that Emily was going to fly again.  She would be well.  I walked back to the school and my Dad had just pulled up with my Uncle Bill.
"You have perfect timing," he said as he got out of the car.  I laughed to myself because it wasn't the first time I had heard those exact words that day. I knew God was ordering my every step.  He opened the trunk to put his suitcase in the back and there was the rocker, beaming white with Emily's name on it.  The assurance that flooded over my being that Emily was going to have a seat in our house was overwhelming.
It was the first time I remember the Lord showing me the idea of restoration through a butterfly.

Interruptions

I haven't forgotten about the butterflies.  I'm working on it, but it is so important that I want to do it right and thoroughly, for my own sake as well as for you to understand.  Since I lost all that I had on my computer about it I'm having to gather all my stuff up again so it is taking me some time. 

But the real reason I'm not posting about it today is that there was an interruption this morning.  The kind that puts everything on hold until you hear from God, again.  The kind that makes you go back to the very beginning and say, OK God, we need to start all over again and question everything from the very start of things.  Because I don't want anything that isn't of you.  And what I've always asked for is the truth. 

There are pirates in my territory.  I must steal it back from the enemy. 

If I fight for God may I have victory, if not, let my vessel sink to the bottom of His great, big, beautiful ocean. 

No More Than Four

"Sarah, come here.  I need to talk to you about something very important," I said.  She trotted over to my bedside where I had been reading and cocked her head to one side and squinted expectantly at me. 
"I can't tell you until you sit on my lap, it's very important."
She obligingly crawled up onto the bed and squatted on my belly and started squishing my cheeks together with her hands.  With as much seriousness as I could muster between squished cheeks I said,
"Sarah, you are not allowed to grow up any more.  Do you see my hand?"  I splayed my fingers in front of her face.  "How many is this?" 
"FIVE!" she shouted a little too loudly for the distance between us. 
"Right!" I said, "You are not allowed to do this."  I pointed to my hand.  "Only this," I said as I put my thumb down and showed her four fingers.  She giggled and then saucily asked, "Why?"
"Because if you turn five I won't have a baby anymore," I sighed in my saddest voice.  She laughed and squished my cheeks again. 
"Mommy, you're just kiddin'," she giggled.
"Well," I said, "Do you promise to be my baby forever even if your not a baby anymore?" 
"I promise!" she said firmly.  Then she added, "Daddy said I can have a playdate with Drew."
Lord help me, I'm not ready for that.  She skipped happily away and I was left to wonder how soon the last of her babyness would vanish. 
Since the beginning of the year I have spent a lot of time focusing on the idea of reverence, the fear of the Lord. 
"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding." Prov. 9:10
I'm learning so much, but I've been reluctant to share my thoughts because the subject seems so beyond the reach of words.  It's become so much a part of my world that it eventually begins to leak into my writings and I'm trying to be willing to share some of my thoughts and experiences.  I've tried to allow the fear of the Lord be the basis of everything.  Not there yet, trust me.  But it has changed the way I look at everything from spending money to eating, to writing, to working...well everything really.  Today, as I was getting ready for Sarah's Birthday party, I began to process why we celebrate.  Why do we honor people's birthdays?  And I felt it was a good and important thing to celebrate Sarah.  Sarah is important to God.  Important to our family.  Important to this world. 
Sarah was a very special baby to me.  She gave me a will to live beyond myself.  She also kept me away from numbing myself with narcotics during a time when I was going through excruciating pain.  I didn't want to take any medication that would harm my baby.  What I went through during that time was so important, and Sarah not only gave me the will to get through it, but to get through it with my eyes wide open.  I can hardly believe it was four years ago.  I remember the night she was born. My room was dark but the curtain was open to the city lights.  Matt was sleeping in the chair next to me.  I think it was about 2:30 AM.  I held Sarah in my arms and the tears streamed down my face.  I knew at that moment that all that I had gone through was worth it if the only thing I ever gained from it was her.  I still feel that way.
As I thought of all the new year might open up for Sarah, I realized that Matt and I are marking a period of closure as well.  About a year after Sarah was born, Matt and I decided we would not have anymore children.  It was a decision I prayed over very carefully.  Matt decided that he would be the one to have surgery and I believed that was the right decision.  But about two years ago I began to sense an opening in my spirit in a different direction.  I thought a lot about adopting a Brazilian boy, and even that when we visited my parents it would be good to look into it.  I was hoping my Brazilian citizenship might make the process less complicated.  But when I brought the idea up to Matt he was really firm that it was not what he wanted.  I knew I needed to respect that.  So Brazil came and went and yet still I felt an opening in my spirit.  I also knew that I could never pressure or guilt Matt into something like this.  If it was God's will than God would put the desire in his heart as well.  This would have to be brought about through Divine workings.
Now, I have to explain some things that are going to seem like they don't have anything to do with the last paragraph, but hold on for a bit because they do.
Whenever I see a cardinal, I think of Matt.  I guess you could say there is a symbolism in it for me.  And a few months ago, for reasons I could not explain, I started to feel very impressed by the color yellow, with red accents.  It is not uncommon for the Lord to speak to me through colors, but this one had me stumped. 
One afternoon I was at Rev. Mary's house and we were talking about birds, and how I often feel like God uses birds to teach me.  (Remind me to repost my story about seagulls.  I know--I keep saying I will do it, but I never do.  I'll figure it out soon.)  Anyways, Rev. Mary heartily agreed and was telling me some examples from her own journey.  ( I am so blessed to have her in my life, she makes me feel so normal.)  Just then I heard a loud tapping sound.  She smiled and said, "There's something you need to see. Go into my bedroom and peek very slowly around the doorway to the window."  I did as she said, all the while hearing the tapping  and as I saw the window I could hardly believe my eyes.  There, on the outside of the window was a beautiful yellow bird with hints of red tapping it's beak on the window like it was knocking and wanting to come in. 
I found myself in one of those moments where all the stuff that's been muddling about in your spirit collides with the physical world and all I could feel was awe.  But I didn't know what it meant.
"What kind of bird is that?"  I asked.
"It's the female cardinal." she said. 
The moment her words touched my ears the Lord shocked me so hard I had to hold myself up against the wall to keep from falling.  She was also aware of it and suggested I might need a moment.  We sat in the living room.  "What do you think the Lord is saying to you Becky?" she said calmly. 
"Well, the red cardinal is Matt," I said to Mary.  "I've known that for a while, but I didn't know the female cardinal was yellow."  I thought for a bit.  "God has been asking me for sometime what I want about something specific--about a birth."  I continued, "I thought He was just trying to help me want what He wants, but  now I'm actually beginning to feel like He's giving me a choice."  We talked through some possibilities of what it all could mean, if it was something in the natural or spiritual--but I still wasn't sure what the Lord was getting at. 
The next few weeks whenever I walked through the gardens I saw a pair of cardinals, one red and one yellow, carrying on like birds do in springtime.  The Lord kept asking me, "What do you want?"  I felt like He would walk me through my options, and then just as I thought I was sure I knew what I wanted He would show me another possibility or another way of looking at it all.  All the while he would place the question in my heart, "What do you want?"  At times I would get frustrated with the process and throw it back at Him, "I don't know what I want!  There's too many variables!  Just tell me what You want!  I want what You want!" 
Again He would help me to know more.  Finally I came to see that He was helping me to see the big picture--through His eyes.  This was why Vermeer's Painting was so significant to me.  I think in the end He knew I would desire what He desired, but He gave me the sweetness of  going through the process of allowing it to come from my deepest convictions, because it was the right decision, and because it became what I truly wanted, and not just because I thought God wanted me to want it.  It wasn't about just knowing, it was about becoming.  I knew my choice, and I knew God was pleased.  I'm not saying God gave me a guarantee.  I'm saying He allowed me to choose a possibility.
I never told Matt I was wrestling through any of this at the time.  Like I said earlier, I knew if his heart was going to change, it would have to be God's doing.  I sensed that something important was going to happen during our cruise to Bermuda, but I didn't know what to expect.  One night, we were headed back to our cabin after dinner and Matt had been flirting with babies all night.  He is a baby magnet and always points them out and coos over them.  I said to him lightheartedly, "I don't understand, you love babies so much but you don't want another one."  He answered quite seriously, "I never said that.  I said I didn't want to adopt.  If you want a baby, I will go get a reversal and we'll have another."  I was stunned.  "Really?" I said.  "You would do that?"  He was very sure, "Yes, I would."
There it was, handed to me on a platter.  No cajoling, no manipulating, no begging.  Like the Lord said, I had a choice.  But in the very words Matt chose was the affirmation that I had already made the right one.  If I wanted one, we would have one.  It wasn't what he wanted, though he would be willing to want it for me...because he loves me.  He was content, satisfied.  In that moment I felt peace that Sarah would be our last baby.  And she will always be our baby. 
It's funny, after I made my decision, the red faded from my yellow.  It was replaced with gray.  Sometimes gray represents a fogginess or confusion, a lack of clarity or even an emotional dullness.  But in the last few months the Lord has specifically been using it to represent wisdom to me--something I certainly want to welcome.  I know we all do.  The yellow speaks of light--which I hope to walk in as the Lord leads. 
Sarah's middle name is Madison.  It means son of Matthew, or in her case, child of Matthew.  Even though she came about through a time of great confusion, I know that she was a child we were chosen to have.  We are so blessed. 
You are so precious, Sarah Bear, SaSah, Babydoll, Princess...and yes, you will ALWAYS be our baby girl.
Tomorrow we'll go to the park and you can ride your new bike as long as you want...after all, it is your Birthday.
And tomorrow I will also post pictures of Sarah's Birthday party on The B Girls Blog (FYI Grandma and Grandpa).  The one at the top is Sarah by her Birthday tree.  (I hear butterflies like them, but that story is for another post.)

Mist

The sky he cries, over the sea;
Weeps against the windows of her ocean vessel,
"Let me in, let me see."

The wind stings her panes with his tears
In a sharp downward slant.
Water seeps in through the cracks.
The glass cries on both sides.

He presses for answers.
"Why does she mourn?"
But she has no use for words.
She is an enormity of wind, water, and mystery.

His cloudy mist covers
And hovers over
Her damply hidden depths;
Still her secrets remain her own.

While he does not know her sorrows
He knows well her grief
And they whisper together soul to soul
In the midst of the mist
'Til barely can be distinguished sky from sea,
Blue gray from steel green.

Note: I wrote this poem on the first morning of our trip, after reading the preface to Elie Wiesel's Night.  I could probably spend a year writing and following all the trails of emotion and questions and wonderings those 9 pages opened up in my spirit.  As I follow those trails I am simply very grateful that Wiesel wrote. My Lord reminded me again how much courage He asks of His scribes. The original foreword by Francois Mauriac to Night is also priceless. That was as far as I got.  Overwhelmed with gravity, I made my way up to the 14th floor of the ship in the early morning hours to the empty bar that overlooked the dismal sea.  We had a lot of stormy weather on our ocean journey.  But I didn't mind. The Lord didn't allow me to ask for sunny weather.  Perfect weather, was the prayer He gave me. Besides, there isn't a day I don't love the sea.  Like me, she has her moods. 

I thought I would share with you some quotes of Elie's preface (this is a new preface published with the retranslation of the work by Wiesel's wife, Marion).
 "Convinced that this period in history would be judged one day, I knew that I must bear witness.  I also knew that, while I had many things to say, I did not have the words to say them.  Painfully aware of my limitations, I watched helplessly as language became an obstacle.  It became clear that it would be necessary to invent a new language.  But how was one to rehabilitate and transform words betrayed and perverted by the enemy?

...Deep down the witness knew then, as he does now, that his testimony would not be received.  After all, it deals with an event that sprang from the darkest zone of man.  Only those who experienced Auschwitz know what it was.  Others will never know. 

But would they at least understand?

And yet, having lived through this experience, one could not keep silent no matter how difficult, if not impossible, it was to speak.

And so I persevered.  And trusted the silence that envelopes and transcends words."

Elie Wiesel