Hold Me Close Now, Fumbling Dancer


You invited me to the dance, and I accepted.


When you accept someone’s invitation to the dance, there’s a certain thrill that goes along with not knowing what kind of music will be played, if there’s a theme or dress requirements, or if you’ll know the moves. There’s the added uncertainty of your dance partner. Does he know how to dance? Has he danced before? What smooth moves has he learned from previous dance partners? It’s all a mystery that unfolds as the songs play one after another. Sometimes you step on each other’s feet and sometimes you flow like swans on a pond.

But what do you do when you’ve been dancing a while and the music is skipping, one of you has two left feet, or you went to use the bathroom and couldn’t find your way back through the crowd? What if your partner stumbles on a tricky move and faceplants on the dancefloor?


You see, when you accepted the invitation to dance, you accepted it all. On this dance floor everyone will stumble eventually. Everyone will faceplant. Your dance partner didn’t intentionally fall on the slick wood paneled flooring, it’s just a part of the dance. So when he falls, do you leave him there? Do you find another partner? Do you run away from what is an inevitable part of dancing? Or do you offer your hand and say, “I got you. For all those times you've picked me up when I’ve been a fumbling dancer, I got you.”


So pick yourself up, get back on the dancefloor, and let’s dance.






Fiercely Compassionate. Compassionately Fierce.

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