Loss is the great leveler of the human race.
It is no respecter of age, race, net worth or even your spiritual affiliation.
Anne Lamott wrote, “You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
Dancing with a limp reminds us that all is not right in this world, that life is fragile and that each day is a gift.
It is easy to forget that life is truly a miraculous occurrence.
Douglas Adams once stated that, “The fact that we live at the bottom of a deep gravity well, on the surface of a gas covered planet going around a nuclear fireball 90 million miles away and think this to be normal is obviously some indication of how skewed our perspective tends to be.”
Dancing with a limp reminds us to forgive, love, serve, laugh, celebrate and take care of the people God has told us to care for.
Dancing with a limp reminds us of the injustices in this world, and that 19 thousand children are still dying every day from extreme, preventable poverty.
Dancing with a limp reminds us of the people God gave us for a season.
My nephew and his wife just became pregnant, and it would have been my sister’s first grandchild, and while we were celebrating the news, we also were sad that my sister would not be there.
We also laughed because my sister always said that when she became a grandma, she wanted to be called “glama”. It would fit perfect with all her leopard print outfits.
There is an Irish Proverb that says, “Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, but love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
Dancing with a limp reminds us of eternal life.
Jesus’ friend Lazarus had died, and Jesus said these powerful words to his family, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die.”
Dancing with a limp reminds us of God’s promise of strength.
The prophet Jeremiah cried out with destruction and death all around him, “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassion never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”
Dancing with a limp reminds us that even though life can be ugly, ultimately it is beautiful.
Abraham Lincoln said, “We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.”
Dancing with a limp reminds us of our need for one another.
The Apostle Paul wrote, “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ”, and “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”
Dancing with a limp reminds us that good wins in the end.
Luis Miguel wrote, “I think we all wish we could erase some dark times in our lives. But all of life’s experiences, bad and good, make you who you are. Erasing any of life’s experiences would be a great mistake.”
That’s why the Apostle Paul could write, “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”
And that is why we can celebrate with the psalmist who wrote, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”
Dancing with a limp reminds us how to treat those who are experiencing loss.
Joe Bayley, who lost 3 children, wrote a book called “The View From The Hearse” and gives us this great advice:
“Don’t try to “prove” anything to a survivor. An arm about the shoulder, a firm grip of the hand, a kiss: these are the proofs grief needs, not logical reasoning. I was sitting, torn by grief. Someone came and talked to me of God’s dealings, of why it happened, of hope beyond the grave. He talked constantly, he said things I knew were true. I was unmoved, except to wish he’d go away. He finally did.
Another came and sat beside me. He didn’t talk. He didn’t ask leading questions. He just sat beside me for an hour or more, listened when I said something, answered briefly, prayed simply, left. I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go.”
Dancing with a limp reminds us to KEEP DANCING!