Dancing. If you know me at all, you probably know that this is something I don’t do. I just don’t. Chances are, unless you’re my mom thinking of a time when I was really young, you’ve never seen me dance. And if you have, it was probably “The Cha-Cha Slide” or some similar group dance, and I was probably (quite literally) dragging my feet and acting miserable the entire time. No one sees me dance, because I don’t dance. And in all honesty, I prefer it that way.
And then I came to Africa. There is a lot of dancing in Africa. They dance at weddings, funerals, church services, and probably just about any other gathering of people they may have.
This past week, we have been traveling to several villages scattered around Cote D’Ivoire and holding events each evening. These evenings feature a movie, a sermon from a member of my team, and worship. And by worship, I mean dancing. Lots of it.
Rewind: When I was at training camp learning about all the crazy things I may or may not end up doing on the World Race, I made a rule for myself. I decided that I was not going to pass up any ministry opportunity solely because it made me uncomfortable. Because it isn’t about me. And if encouraging and ministering to other people requires me to be uncomfortable, it’s all worth it. Right?
Fast forward back to Africa. We’re in a little village and getting ready to watch the movie for the evening. But there are technical difficulties and we need to stall. So they turn on some African music and everyone starts dancing.
I sit in my chair and watch all this start. And that rule that I made for myself pops into my head. So I tell myself, this isn’t actually part of our program. So would dancing right now really count as ministry? I could skip this and be fine, right?
But that wasn’t the heart behind the rule and I knew it. So I forced myself to stand up, and in true Daniel fashion, I found four little boys off by themselves in the corner. I joined them and started moving around a little.
But the problem is, when you’re the light-skinned, blonde-haired, blue-eyed American in Africa, hiding in the corner isn’t a very effective strategy. I stand out no matter what I do here.
So four kids quickly turned into six. And six turned to ten. And ten to twenty. And twenty to God only knows how many. A lot. And although I had started out trying to copy their dancing, it soon became clear that they were copying me.
Oh dear, children. If you’re looking for dance moves, you’ve come to the wrong guy. My repertoire of dance moves consists of the Sprinkler, the Shopping Cart, and my personal favorite, the finger twirl. Maybe even a Double Finger Twirl if I’m really feeling it.
So here it was. The test. I could have bowed out and sat down. But I was determined not to do that. So I moved to one side. And then to the other. And then I repeated the process. And let me assure you, it was awkward beyond what I can describe.
They loved it. Soon they wanted a new “move.” And another. We went on this way for probably ten minutes. But finally, I ran out of awkward ways to shake my torso or flail my limbs. So I motioned to one of the older boys in the group, maybe eleven years old. I wanted to copy him.
Big mistake. I don’t even know how to describe the dance move he broke out. It somehow involved bouncing around on the balls of his feet while at the same time shaking his knees left and right in opposite directions. It looked like he was dislocating, or maybe breaking, his knees over and over. I think I almost did break something when I tried to mimic him.
They got a lot of joy out of my attempt. They laughed hysterically as I came nowhere close to what he was doing. He tried to slow it down so I could get it, but the effort was futile. I probably ought to get some beginner moves down before I try insane moves like his.
So I won’t sugar coat it. I was extremely self-conscious the entire time this was happening. I still don’t have a passion for dancing inside me. But it was worth sacrificing my comfort for their joy. Because this whole trip, this whole life, is about so much more than just me.
And who knew? God can use a lack of dancing skill and some really weird, awkward, horrible dance moves for his glory.
