The Dance

I loved watching my daughter dance when she was a child.  She would wear her little leotard and tutu, and  spend hours on her hands and knees on the floor spinning and twirling and so full of joy that I couldn't help but stop whatever busy task I was involved in and just watch.  It mattered not to her that her movements were different from the other children; it mattered not to me. It was poetry in motion, it was joy and goodness and innocence. It was beautiful, and it was when I started to understand why children with disabilities are labeled "special". You bet they are. They are God's most precious and most special creations, and I am blessed to share this dance with her.

The Dance

With twisted limbs that will not bend
she struggles on,
then stops to grin
at ants that crawl across her hand-
small wonders in a child's play land.

Her body slowly moves along
on calloused knees
until a song
delights her ear.
She stops to dance-

a grotesque waltz
She takes her chance

and moves to music
though she knows
her steps are awkward as she goes,
but in her mind she twirls and spins
The music starts.
The dance begins.

The little body starts to sway.
She giggles in her childlike way
and moves with free abandon now,
imagination shows her how.

To those who watch with just their eyes
the awkward child's pathetic tries
to waltz and glide across the floor--
they pity her, and see no more.

But those who watch her from the heart
see the skillful dancer's art
unfold with each contorted twirl,
and smile upon the gifted girl.