Step Lightly

"Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—
    this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families;
    he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy.
But he makes the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land." Psalm 68:5-6

"You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy." Psalm 30:11


For Jenny on her birthday.

Every day, I hope to be humble enough to learn something. Often, that's not the case, and I feel as though I sit in the same spot, as the same stubborn self, learning nothing new. We're all that way, we're all human.
The cool thing about people is that each one of the people God gives us can help us learn.
Today is Jenny's birthday. Jenny was born to dance, but not just with her feet, and not just on her own, she makes other people dance too.

Today, on Jenny's birthday, I spent a day of introverted bliss all by myself, processing my own heart, my own shortcomings, my own brokenness, and my own joy. As an introvert, I usually find that days like this, where I speak very little, and don't see anyone, or almost anyone, are beautiful, and today was no exception. Today hurt, though. Because I spent today reflecting on the lesson Jenny ALWAYS teaches me. Always. And when I came to the end of being reflective, I had learned something new, something productive, and something I wish I had better believed so long ago.

Step lightly.

When I think "step lightly" I remember the times I looked at my feet as a child, afraid to be me, eggshells, fears, whatever, anything that kept boldness from rising up. 1-2-3, counting measured and light steps, not wanting to set anyone off...
That's not Jenny's version of step lightly...
No.
For Jenny, stepping lightly means the exact opposite. For Jenny a light step means to have fun, laugh, take life and give it your best, step with your all, with an element of fearless life that perhaps I don't have down just yet, but one I'm learning.
By nature, Jenny's step is much lighter than my own, I walk a little funny, she's trained in dance, but, ultimately I pray that in stepping with her I continually learn what it looks like to step lightly, not believing I'm bothering someone by the sound of my feet on the tile, the sand, the carpet, but stepping with a dance in my heart, knowing that my feet on that carpet bless the other people who walk on it.
Jenny teaches me this. She walks the carpet with me, and we step. It's fun.
On Friday Jenny reminded me to step lightly again as my voice mingled with hers and the rest of our people in a car on the way to the beach. Instead of being afraid I'd forget the words, or being unsure of whether it was my place to sing them, I did it with them.
Then, I did something bold, I asked questions to learn, "What's something you've never done that you'd like to do?" We all answered. I said I wanted to ride a bike. Another one...a slumber party...never done it.
The others gave really cool answers, that I remember, but won't reveal.
Then, well, we ended up on the beach, on the beach, and in the water.
For the first time in 17 years, I entered an ocean, and my absolute biggest fear, one of the most traumatic memories of my entire life, was conquered and trampled underfoot. This was the beginning of Jenny's birthday celebration, and I stepped so lightly...you'd better believe it.

My feet were heavy with sand, my muscles screaming, but I laid on a towel and talked about pearls and sunsets with someone I loved but had never really had the chance to know. Bananas, Apples, Paella, Nevada, Heartbreak, Anger, Coffee, Tea, Butterflies, Testimony, Overcoming, Stories...on the beach. Never once did I think the words of the other person were burdensome, I loved hearing them, and because it was true, I added some of my own. Then it happened. I walked forever and a day down the beach and found myself in the arms of a brother, and an ocean...sparkling blue, and stepping lightly.
I went in one young woman, and came out another, but I was grateful for the transition.

Step lightly. It's not that I can't do it. It's just that I had it all wrong.
For so long I've assumed my step is heavy, but that's a lie, a big one.
Nobody had any trouble walking me down that beach, pulling me up from it, holding me while I was in the water, or running with me on the sand. None of those people got anything but joy out of hearing me squeal in the experiences, in telling and hearing stories, it wasn't heavy.
Step lightly.
Jenny teaches me this. Every day.
See yourself as one who makes others dance, who makes others soar, because that's what you are.
That's Jenny's gift to me. If it hadn't been for her, I can tell the world as a whole that I never would have experienced a beautiful sisterly conversation under the stars, a mile long walk on the beach, I never would've glowed blue...
Jenny teaches me my steps aren't heavy, she teaches me that my heart is actually a gift to other people.
It's not as if I don't know this by the grace of God already, but sometimes it's hard to understand how in the world it's possible that holding my hand all the time is no issue at all, or how slowing down, or whatever, is nothing but a routine happening, because those people who love me are pleased to step lightly with me, and would rather do so than be without me anyway.
My name is Courtney, it's the name on my starbucks cup, my birth certificate, my hoodie.
It means "Court Dweller" "King's Attendant" "Honest Counselor" it was the result of a compromise that came from people who had no idea what they were doing, but it's me. That person on the beach, in the water, on the sand under the stars, she's a light stepper. She has wings. She's deeper than a starbucks cup, a birth certificate, a compromise. She loves dozens of young women who cry on her couch sometimes, she wears holes in her shoes when she walks, but no matter, her step is light, free, and unlike any other.
Her step is crooked, but those hands she holds wouldn't want it any other way. She sparkles blue...and she's very blessed.
Jenny reminds me of this...every. single. day.

Happy birthday, Jenny! I thank God for the chance to step lightly with you.
I love you very much.