Dancing Through the Storm

I was out to lunch with my girls when the call came in.  It was Maddie’s dance studio. The place we reside four days a week when we aren’t at our permanent residence.  They wanted to let us know that they successfully moved Maddie to the new class she wanted try.  Maddie was so excited, and now her schedule was perfect.  She was in every class she wanted, and I was pleased because I would only have to make three trips a week instead of four.

We finished lunch, and I quietly did the happy dance in my head. Our daily schedule was just right now.  I realize it’s December, but I think I’ll always organize my life by semesters and the school calendar.  And we are starting next semester in order.  Yay me!

But little did I know what was lurking ahead.  My new found order was about to receive a big dose of chaos.

Maddie came home from dance that night complaining that she landed a jump wrong and her foot was hurting.  She didn’t seem too upset by it, and so I didn’t pay it much mind.  The next morning her foot was red and swollen.  Being the optimist that I am, and the nurse I’m not, I started her on ice treatments and Advil around the clock.

Sunday came and went without much improvement, so it was to the doctor we hobbled on Monday.  A couple of x-rays, pokes, prods, and two doctors later, we had a diagnosis.  A small bone in her foot was fractured.

Good to know, I thought, as I smiled at the doctor.  But that wasn’t the kicker.

The doctor went on to explain that Maddie would be in a hard, walking cast for four – six weeks, followed by physical therapy for a few months.

A few months?

Then the dreaded question.  My voice was probably quivering.  I couldn’t look at Maddie.  I knew it wasn’t registering with her what the doctor was saying.

I tentatively asked, What about dance?  When can Maddie return to dance?

She shook her head.  “It will be three-four months before she can dance again.  It’s possible it could be sooner depending on physical therapy, but we just don’t know.”

If you could hear a beating heart sinking, you would have that day in the orthopedic unit at Children’s Hospital.  Two hearts sinking actually.

Maddie cried.  I cried.  I’m pretty sure the doctor wiped a few tears.

She told us that this is a common injury among dancers and assured us it wasn’t a career ending injury.

Somehow those words weren’t very comforting.  You see this is the year that Maddie has taken her dance to the next level.  She is on the Company team.  They have been rehearsing since August in preparation for the competition season, which begins in January and ends in April.

Maddie should be just about healed by mid-March.

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It’s been a few days now.  We have our moments.  And sponge baths are no fun.  We are facing many unknowns and difficult decisions about dance in the near future.  But somewhere in this storm, Strength has found my daughter.  I’m amazed as I watch her process all that’s happened.  Don’t get me wrong, there are tears, and some moments are beyond frustrating, but deep down there is this quiet understanding in her heart.

She understands that her strength is not her own.  She believes God holds her in His hands.  She trusts that God knows her dreams, and He has a special time when those dreams will become a reality.  She feels His presence as she limps and hobbles through this storm.

A quiet understanding does not mean she can put into words why this has happened, or answer what lessons she’s learning.  It means she knows that God has a plan in all this.

I know, because that’s what she told me.  As we were leaving the doctor’s office she told me, “Mom, God has a plan, and I’m okay with that.”

Perhaps I can learn a thing or two from this young dancer.  And as for the nice an orderly schedule, well, it’s possible God is calling our family to a season of rest.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens. Ecclesiastes 3:1