The Circle

It happened. I knew this day would come.  As I peered through the window, I saw her practicing her chasse’ across the floor.  I was touched by her developing grace, moved by her determination.  And on the other side of the room I saw them.  4-5 little girls gathered in that girl circle, you know the one. The circle that says no one else is allowed.  The circle that marks a territory, that is mean to exclude.  And they had that stance, and the look in their eye.  That look that girls get when in a desperation to make themselves likeable, acceptable, worthy, they must make others feel unlikeable, unaccepted, unworthy.  On their face were the smiles that don’t really reach their eyes, because,  though the smile might be on their lips, it isn’t in their heart.  Even at 30 my heart bristles at the memory of being on the outside of that circle, on the receiving end of that smile, and my gut tightens as I remember the times I was in the circle. And as I watched my daughter finish her chasses she walked over and stood by herself waiting for the next direction.  No one spoke to her.  No one smiled at her.  

What do you do as a mother in this moment?  Do you whisk her away hoping she won’t sense it?  Do you march in and give those girls an earful?  Do you catch their eye and smile a knowing smile that doesn’t reach your eyes but instead sends a clear message that they better not mess with this mama bear’s cub?  Do you do nothing and let it work itself out?  At the moment, I did nothing but watch.

What do you feel in that moment?  Anger, because someone is hurting her?  Heartache, for her little heart?  Relief, that she isn’t the one leaving someone out?  Pride, because she is holding her little head high? Fear, because you know this is just the beginning? At, the moment I felt it all.

She did notice.  She told me in the car sometimes she feels left out.  She thinks it’s because she’s the youngest.  I know that is probably part of it.  I know also she was the one of the only little girls in that room dressed like a little girl.  She was the only one with a bow in her hair, the only one in a pale pink leotard with skirt. I don’t tell her that.  I can’t bring myself to tell her to dress differently to be accepted.  That battle will come on its own.  She is already putting hairbows away for headbands most days.

I don’t know what to say.  I try to talk to her, without overreacting.  She is much calmer than me.  In a selfish moment of weakness I ask her if she wants to continue to dance.  She emphatically says yes.  I’m not surprised and ultimately glad.  After all, how can one be a ballerina missionary without proper training?

She goes back to reading as nothing has happened.  I’m left to reflect.  “ how can one be a ballerina missionary without proper training?”  I realize that this is training.  It’s not just plies or chasses, or whatever French word she happens to be practicing.  This is life. Training to be who she is, to place her identity in the Lord no matter what the circle of little girls says.   Chances are, no Reality is, that should she become that ballerina missionary, or whoever the Lord calls her to be, on her way there, she will be outside of that circle at times.  Others will seek to make her feel unacceptable and unlikeable in order to make themselves feel more accepted and loved.  Reality is that at times she will be tempted to do the same.

Truth is that even at 30 there are still those circles.  Circles you can’t quite break into.  Circles that you form around yourself, to prove something.   I think about how I felt as I watched her.  So what does the Heavenly Father see as he watches me ‘dancing’?  Does his heart hurt with mine?  Yes. Does he whisper to my aching heart that it’s really a blessing not to be in that circle?  Do I turn to him, the ultimate healer, to mend my hurting heart? Or does his heart hurt as I try to change who I am so that I can fit in?  Are his whispers calling me to remember that I am his and all the love and acceptance one could dream of is wrapped up in that simple truth?   Yes and yes.  And the beautiful truth is that no matter what circle I am out of, I am always in is hands.  And just maybe sometimes being out of the circle is the best way to know where you really are.

So I drive home.  We eat dinner. And I watch her, her sparkling eyes, her quick smile. I smile as she excitedly shows off what she has learned.  I wipe her eyes when her tender heart breaks with concern for his sister.  I kiss her head as I tuck her in bed.  And I know.  I know this isn’t the end.  I know this is just the beginning of heartaches of all sorts, circles of all different kinds.  I know that I will want to save her from all these hurts, protect her from ever feeling the ache. But I know also that to try to keep her from the heartache would be to try to keep her from the Heart Healer.  To attempt to keep her from experiencing the circles of life may be to keep her from experiencing the depth of peace and joy found in his hands. So by His grace I will protect her when it right and possible, I will listen to her when she talks, I will dry her tears and maybe shed some with her,I will love and pray for her always, and through Him I will remind her that the ache of where you are not is what reveals the beauty of where you are-dancing in his hands.