Between The Lines

I’m a really bad dancer. But I appreciate really good dancers. I suppose it’s no wonder, then, that I enjoy watching both Dancing with the Stars and So You Think You Can Dance. I enjoy watching the dancers improve each week and I enjoy seeing the unique musical interpretations of the choreographers. Most of the time, I watch the dances, smile, and casually give my civilian critique. Yet every once in awhile, I watch the dances, cry, and find myself so completely moved by emotion that I can’t say a word. That’s what happened a few years ago when I first saw, “Between The Lines.”

I still remember the package that played before the dance. The choreographer asked the two young dancers to reach into a place that connected with the darkness of addiction. They were challenged to feel very deeply and to put themselves into the emotional space of not being able to overcome that which was controlling them. I remember the male dancer being profoundly impacted by the dance—being pushed to tears by the connection that was so powerful that it radiated from his dancing. And I remember watching the dance in awe—sitting in stunned silence—tears filling my eyes—because I got it—and then I watched it again—and again—and again—because, each time, I got it.

I get wanting to move beyond fears that paralyze…
I get wanting to shake off chains that bind hands behind a wounded back…
I get wanting to break free of the power of negative self-talk…
I get wanting to leave failure behind and walk forward in peace…
Yet having fear, chains, negative self-talk, and failure come from behind and grab hold of me until I can do nothing but stumble forward—or collapse under their weight.

Drugs, alcohol, unhealthy relationships, playing the victim, playing the martyr, disordered eating, cutting, picking, burning, self-harm, gambling, pornography, chocolate, texting, Social Media, money, violence, work, power, sex, control…

It’s all the same yet all so different yet
I get the strange addiction of staying with those things that I know—
even if what I know is slowly killing me.

I get those moments when that strange little monster of everything I hate rears his ugly head,
comes out of hiding, and hijacks all sense and sensibility…

I get those gut-wrenching jolts of human reality that slap me in the face with everything I thought I’d moved beyond and pick me up and leave my legs flying pointlessly in the air…

I get those dark days when all that is hiding between the lines comes out of remission and begins its cancerous quest to take over all that is good and right…

And those days are hard.
Human reality is hard.
Strange little monster moments are hard.
Addictions are hard.
Fear, chains, negative self-talk, and failure screaming are hard.

And sometimes all I can do is pray for God to read between the lines of my broken heart’s prayer: Dear God. I can't. You can. So please, Lord. Have your way. And help me to be all that I cannot. Amen.