Down to mourn, up to breathe, eyes to the floor, eyes to the Cross. Gravity and grief pull me down. Glory and God lift me up. Waltzing this dance, this fight between grief and glory passes the minutes of the day. One moment I am a well-rehearsed dancer, bending low and rising high to the rhythm of grief and God. Although the melody is sad, the dancing is beautiful and full of grace. Yet the very next moment I am the underdog in a fight between glory and gravity, never quite sure on which team I belong. I do not bend but am knocked down, and I do not rise but am lifted up. Grief deals blow after blow and I turn cheek after cheek. Glory gains strength to return a mighty punch and grief stumbles back in retreat.
At any given moment, on any given day, grief or glory may have the tightest grip on me. My eyes may be locked to the floor or my eyes may be lifted to the Cross. I may be full of grace or full of fervor. I bend and rise, fall and am lifted, trusting that in the painful blur of the movement, this waltz might lead to worship, and this fight might lead to faith.