Determined.

Wanting to push myself further in the area of ballet, I enrolled in a more intense ballet academy. I signed-up for two classes (on Tuesday and Thursday nights). 

Here's an afternoon in the life of a klutzy ballerina:

Usually I walk into the small dressing room a little early (5-10 minutes), already full with the typical ballet dancers. You know the type, super petite, talented, stuck-up nine year-olds. Did I mention that most of them are at least five years younger than me... and they are already incredible dancers. Basically, I feel about as graceful as an elephant (and as doofy as one, too), just standing next to these girls. 

Smiling at everyone, I quietly put my pointe shoes on and waited for the class to start. Icy glares and silence filled the small room.

It gets pretty awkward, not gonna lie.  

After what seems like the longest five minutes ever, the instructor summons us to class. While she starts the monotonous music, I find a place at the barre and try my very hardest not to feel self-conscious. 

This music bothers me because it falls flat every three stanzas. It sounds like an ambulance swerving off the road; I don't know why it doesn't seem to drive the others absolutely crazy.

As the instructor glides to the middle of the room, she makes up a difficult and lengthy combination and teaches it to us. This process takes around ten minutes. 

My silent thoughts: "Umm, well, maybe if I could remember the combination of tendus, leg switches, combreas, developes, guccigas, and portepbreas... wait! Yes! I will just look at the girl in front of me! Perfect. Wait, backwards now? The other side? Really? No way... uhh. What's going on? Oh, brother, I'm totally lost! There's nobody in front of me now. Shoot! She's coming over here. Maybe if I smile..."

She stops the music and comes over to me; my heart-rate immediately skyrockets. After telling me (and the class) everything that I didn't do correctly for several minutes, she walks away and starts the next sequence of combinations. Perfect.

The barre time always feels like it should be ended sooner. 

Corner time comes directly after barre time. This is not much better — she teaches us chain combinations out in the center of the floor. We are then expected to travel from the corner of the room, one at a time. Trying to keep rhythm with this random music is hard enough, but remembering all the steps, hand and head positions, while looking graceful is next to impossible for me. 

My turn takes much longer than everyone else's. After finally stumbling through, the music starts over and we [apparently] reverse everything in our brains and go from the other side. 

This particular form of humiliation is especially tragic because there is no hope on earth for me. 

Last week, after a particularly sad attempt, my instructor said, "Oh, Christine! That was completely... wrong. Umm, but your feet looked nice."

I said, "I'm sorry. I tried! I really did."

She said, "I know, dear. That's the sad part."

My instructor must think I'm a complete dunce — but I don't blame her. 

It qualifies as one of those situations where you either laugh or cry (I'm not gonna say I never cry about this, because that would not be the truth). 

But the look on the girls faces as I drove myself away was priceless — their mouths were gaping. It almost made up for the evening of failures. I laughed.

Do you know what kept coming to my mind in those embarrassing few hours?

The thought that I have a life worth living. I am loved by my God, family, and friends whether or not I'm an ace ballet dancer or prima ballerina - my life has purpose and meaning outside of ballet. 

Also, these classes apparently build character. You know, the kind of character that could only come from outright humiliation. 

When I was driving home last Thursday night, I asked God to give me determination, grit, drive, and strength for this class. 

He definitely provided. 

I'm determined to stick it out. I will get better. And even if I'm only a light for Christ, it'll all be worth it. 

Many people have asked me why I continue to dance. And the only answer I can give is that I love it. Sure, it's hard to go to the classes. But I ultimately love the grace, poise, and strength — ballet is a part of me. If I didn't dance, I'm sure I'd watch it, read about it, and dream about it. 

I believe God places unique desires and challenges in my life for specific purposes. And so, I glorify Him who made me to dance, through continuing to train myself.

I refuse to quit just because its hard. This ballerina's gonna be on her toes for at least two more years.