Today was my granddaughter, Charlotte's, dance recital and I was in tears from the beginning. I am attached to ballet because I took it for nine years of my life and regret not taking it more seriously.
Not that I had that much talent, because I didn't, not nearly as much as my beloved granddaughter. But if I had the intention of being better, maybe I would have been better. I read recently that intention trumps execution and I believe this to be true.
But I digress. Charlotte has grace, beauty and confidence that I didn't exemplify as a dancer, not even as I got older. I was anxious and awkward, and full of the comparison trap. Always looking at someone else's moves to validate my own. Even after I hung up my ballet shoes, I continued in this dead-end trap.
As I watched her do a tap dance, leading her peers, then a ballet dance, I got tears in my eyes again. This time, thinking how blessed and undeserved I am. I never imagined I would be sitting in a packed, high school auditorium watching a dance recital with my granddaughter doing the dancing.
At that moment, my life flashed before my eyes—all the struggles and mistakes, bad choices and heartbreaks. Yet they all led to this. And this, I thought, is a beautiful masterpiece, a perfect culmination of all things lining up to become Charlotte.
One different move, one second to the right or the left, a different choice, would have resulted in some creature other than this magnificent one that I adore more than anyone, except God.
Yet, right here, this very moment, she exists and we have the proud joy to delight in her. What's truly incredible is that every single adult in that room felt the same way about their daughter or granddaughter. And every single person would be right: their child or grandchild is the image bearer of the Most High God, a living, breathing, walking miracle.
Some might say I am making more of a dance recital than should be made. And some are certainly welcome to some opinion.
But life exists in the small moments, that while they are happening seem just that. I think that the little moments all add up to make very big ones. To find joy and peace in that is a gift. Especially in this crazy world in which we live.
We all need more light. And my precious Charlotte emanates it.
After the recital, children gathered with family and friends, showered mostly with flowers. I brought candy (which Charlotte really loves) because I know her! Having her run up to me exuberantly, throwing her arms around my neck, and yelling "Nonna!" is truly everything.
What's remarkable is, I never cared about having grandchildren. It wasn't a strong pull for me. I saw them as being one more thing to keep me up at night, worrier that I tend to be.
But from the moment I heard the news from Joseph and Lauren that they were expecting a baby, I was all in. Charlotte and her little sister, Amelia, are the best gifts I have ever received. They are the light in the darkness.
So, when I get to relish in the reality that my very own flesh and blood is on the stage, tapping her feet and doing pirouettes, it makes me grateful. I do not deserve it or anything else, for that matter. It's all grace, lavished upon my family and me. Grace in a four-year old's dancing body up on a stage made just for her.
I'm full of gratitude and love, knowing that I could have been in a much different kind of scenario, living a much different kind of life. Thank God, literally, I'm not.