This year my little prodigy is in a class with 8-9yo girls. She's six, by the way. (Yes, I am proud. Why do you ask?) Most weeks she leaves class telling me that her legs hurt. I tell her its because she in a no-joke class. (And just between you and me, Miss Heather pulls more out of that girl than I could ever dream to.) They spend the first 35 minutes at the barre and the last 25 minutes learning their recital routine. And girlfriends werk! Hard.
But...the Girl. She. Loves. It. It's far and above her most favorite hour of the week. It doesn't matter how sick she may be, how tired she is, or how dazzling a conflicting activity may seem...she does not miss a class. Ev. Er.
I love that she is so passionate about dance. She lives and breathes dance. She moves about life under the mantra of "why walk when you can dance?"
Most weeks as I watch my tall-for-her-age girl as the older girls tower around her, I can't help but think about my own passions in life. Do I have any? What are they? What am I investing into them? Are they pleasing to my Lord?
Those are the things I think about when I watch my girl. That and I cry. She's just so big. She's six now, you know. Just yesterday I watched her dance across my belly(from the inside of course). And now she dances across a pine floor in a local dance studio. How can it be?!
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