Clomping. Tiptoeing. Dancing.

There is a beauty in knowing absolutely nothing. I have come to realize, though, that there is also a great danger in it. Just as small children are dangers to themselves because they know so little, I am a danger to the work I am trying to do when I am ignorant of my surroundings. I guess that's where this week's training came in. I know now that had I gone straight to Alexandria, I would have arrived clueless--it would have been equal to trying to learn to ballroom dance in combat boots. I can just picture it; my thick, clumsy limbs in huge, clomping boots, galumphing around the ballroom making out-of-sync noises and being a general nuisance. Even better? I would have only had a vague sense of it all.

I guess that's why, when training started, I thought they were teaching me how to tiptoe. The first quote we examined was

"In approaching another people, another culture, another religion is to take of our shoes, for the place we are approaching is holy; else we may find ourselves treading on someone's dreams. More serious still, we may forget that God was there before our arrival." (Max Warren)

So slowly, slowly, I was shown how to unknot and unlace my combat boots and sink my toes into the deep, rich culture I'd be injected into. My fingers were clumsy; my mind had a hard time wrapping itself around the concept of unknotting just who I was, what I had been given and what I could possibly give. At the same time, though, I was surrounded by great, equally inadequate-feeling witnesses--people I soon came to call "dear friends." We looked to one another this week to figure out how to unknot ourselves, how to get our shoes off, how to be truly naked (spiritually...) with one another and, soon, with other complete strangers. We tiptoed into one another's worlds. We crept in with curiosity and care and, while doing so, dared to leave our own. We (or...I, at least,) crept around one another, dipping toes into the pools of one another's dreams and testing the waters of our faith.

The beautiful moment came, though, silently and anonymously. I didn't notice it until it had long gone. In the blink of an eye or the breath of a prayer, we went from being pseudo-strangers to brothers and sisters. I know that sounds cliche, but it is truly what happened among us. One moment we were not too comfortable touching one another; the next, we dove in and bearhugged, hand-held, hair-tousled, side-poked, shoulder-smacked...the list goes on. One moment we were together for a purpose and the next we were purposed together. One moment the conversations went from being a little formulaic and politely interesting to wild, raucous and tender-hearted. Suddenly we were relaxed and as one; still entirely different, still largely in the dark about the details of each other's lives, still individual, but living communally and moving forward together with purpose. Suddenly we were no longer tiptoeing about--we were dancing. We were twirling and gliding and leaping around the room. Reflecting on it now, I see pairs of eyes in my memory and how deligthfully detailed each person's dancing eyes were. With strong bodies and spirits we all danced together, the different steps all in time flowing inbetween partners and rhythms.

On the heels of this moment came, for me, a great sense of possibility. Possibly I could manage to do this internship the way it was designed. Possibly I could learn people's stories. Possibly I could learn more about living a life of service. Possibly I could learn to link elbows with people different than me and understand that my future is bound in theirs. Possibly, fifteen of us could spiderweb across the country and weave connections between people. After we learned to be with one another, we had the desire to go and be with other people. We heard it in our prayers and in our songs as we worshipped in Spanish, Hebrew, Tagalog, and Sign. We found that, for a little bit, we were the world. We found that, in turn, we wanted the world with us. Not in theology or doctrine or hard and fast ways of living, but we wanted the world with us in shalom.



Now we have scattered along the eastern and western seaboards, across the plains, in cities and hamlets. We'll come back together in August knowing (hopefully) the steps of the people we have spent time with, be they great loping strides or a hassled canter, a limping lindy or slow do-si-do. Maybe we'll be able to teach each other a little bit and maybe we'll go home and teach others the dances we've been shown. I really don't know, though, whether that can happen.
First you need to be barefoot.
Then you need to be free.
Otherwise, you might crush toes, and dreams, and the dance of beautiful men and women who dance differently than you.






I guess all this means my mission this summer is:

Everybody Cut Footloose.

To everyone who has danced with me until now, I thank you for showing me how. Thank you for taking me farther than I could've gone on my own. Thank you for being patient while I clomped on your toes.

To my fellow interns who helped me learn new steps this week and to get naked, I thank you. I truly believe in our vision of becoming nudist farmers...or at least, the nearest non-oppressive equivalent. :)

To the people of Alexandria who sleep in the same city as me tonight, I am glad to be here with you. Forgive me for the monstrosity I might make of your dance in my coming days and know that I will try to keep my steps light and on point.