I Hope You Dance. Rex came to me a few weeks before he died and asked me to listen to this song by Lee Ann Womack. I sat down and listened to it. I wasn't focusing at all on the words of the song. Instead, I was very aware of him looking at me intently throughout the entire song. I remember thinking, "Why is he looking at me so hard; it's an ok song, nothing outrageous." But, you see, I missed his message.
I didn't think another thing about the song for at least a year after Rex died. Then, all of a sudden, I remembered that song and went searching for it in my brain, trying to remember the name of the song and who the artist was. I had this urgency to hear this song again for some reason. I finally remembered what it was from knowing some of the words in the song. Yet, still I missed the message. I was grieving too much to really "hear" it.
Now, here I am two years later, and I got the message. Rex was not having me listen to a song because it was the best song ever; he was telling me his desires for me once he was no longer here. That is WHY he stared at me so passionately while I was listening. Rex wanted me to choose life and dance after he was gone. When I finally understood, I sobbed. I sobbed at the impact of the words; I sobbed at the beauty of his tender care for me; I sobbed at the unselfishness he showed me. I sobbed at my acceptance of his desire for me.
I am so humbled by the many subtle ways he gave me or the girls a piece of his heart to carry with us as we continue to live on without him by our side. It moves me to know that he was a much deeper man than I ever knew or gave him credit for. It shames me that I didn't realize how extremely precious he was while I had him here.
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making
Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out
Reconsider
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
(Time is a real and constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who)
I hope you dance
(Wants to look back on their youth and wonder)
(Where those years have gone)
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
Dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
(Time is a real and constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who)
(Wants to look back on their youth and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)
(Tell me who)
I hope you dance
(Wants to look back on their youth and wonder)
(Where those years have gone)
Looking back, I don't understand why I didn't recognize what Rex was saying when he had me listening to this song. I remember him wanting me to tell him what I thought, and I recall telling him that I liked the song; at the same time, I could tell that my short and sweet response was disappointing to him. I think back and wonder if he wanted to use that song to talk about our life after his departure from us. And, maybe I missed an opportunity. Yet, how comforting it is to have a sweet moment two years later where he is still speaking to us. To know that I recently had a fresh encounter with what was in Rex' heart is so meaningful to me. Beyond that, Rex' life still holds significance for us.
For the last three years, from Rex' diagnosis of cancer through his death and our grieving, I have wanted more than anything for the pain of these last few years not to be wasted. I wanted them to count. I wanted them to make a huge difference in our lives, as well as, others. If we were going to have to endure this trial and pain, then I wanted to see GREAT things come out of it.
That's not an uncommon desire. The loss of a loved one does those kind of things in your heart. You are looking for a reason to explain the pain. You are looking for something to replace the hurt and loss.
Many passions are born out of illness and death. Some people start foundations or ministries; some people build buildings in their honor; some people make large donations for a cause; some people organize rallies or benefits. Whatever your situation, these things seem to help ease the pain and anguish.
I was really no different. I had BIG dreams. I do not want to live a mediocre life, humming along with no sense of direction or purpose. So, like many others, I started desperately trying to determine what my passion was to be. What great thing do I need to do out of this hurt? Where can I focus my energy and help the world? So many things came to mind that I found myself feeling scattered in all kinds of directions. "God, USE me!" I'm willing, I'm ready.
I wasn't sure if I didn't have specific direction or if I was focusing my energy in the wrong direction because I still did not believe that I was where I needed to be. Then, in August, our church had a "Times of Refreshing" with Tom Elliff. The very first night was a message on the "Inevitable Intruder." It was a great message, but there was one specific part that spoke volumes to me more than any other thing said. Tom was talking about a time in his life when he was praying for the next step in his life and what God would have him do. And, as he lay in a hospital bed thinking about this, he felt God speak to him. As best as I can recall Tom said, "You can serve me, you can worship me, you can praise me, but you can't USE me." It was a slap in the face for me as I suddenly realized that all of this passion in me was directed with the wrong intensity for the wrong motive. In all my efforts to do Great and wonderful things, I was attempting to USE God for my own comfort, for my own fulfillment.
I was broken. God is an Almighty God. He deserves my praise, my worship, my service, but I must not take my pain, my loss, and try to alleviate it in His name. Rather, I must give Him my praise, my worship, my service, my life simply because He is my Creator, my Savior, my God. What I do with my life, I must do because of Him.
I've taken a new breath. I have a grand opportunity to grow as a person and work on those parts of my life that stink. I have come up with my personal definition of success, a definition that includes living deliberately each and every day. My greatest personal desires include having the heart of God by knowing Him intimately and living a deliberate and disciplined life carved in wisdom and character. I have lots of room to grow in both of these areas. And, as I work on these really difficult parts of my life that have been ignored and hardened, I am reminded to not sit it out, but to dance.
Isaiah 43:18-19
18 Do not remember the past events, pay no attention to things of old.
19 Look, I am about to do something new; even now it is coming. Do you not see it? Indeed, I will make a way in the wilderness, rivers in the desert.
I Hope You Dance,
Donna Meadows
