The spongy wood floor of the old gymnasium provided the ideal surface for contradancing that would soon start. The band was setting up with sound checks and tuning of instruments, while anticipation was building among the crowd who had gathered for this night of lighthearted entertainment. My friend, Patricia, had asked me to come and would be performing with the band. I happily accepted the invite, remembering the experience of attending with her in 2011. The season had just started that year following her husband’s death and she did not want to go alone. She looked forward to seeing old friends and needed to share with them about the loss. I went along for encouragement and actually enjoyed the night. We attended subsequent monthly dances together until the next year when I relocated to Tennessee.
A partner was not necessary to participate. Dancers changed partners constantly, gliding through lines and circles, linking arms with random strangers for the next whirl. Some moved effortlessly with ease, while others wore a more somber expression as they focused on their steps and listened to the caller’s directions. I had watched with respect and awe as people older–some much older–than I danced through every set. My stamina would last through three sets, at best, before I had to retreat to one of the folding chairs situated along the walls, breathing hard from the sweat and sipping the bottle of cold water I had brought with me from the car.
The dancers gathered on the floor for the 30 minute instruction session offered before the dancing began. As I observed the activity from my seat, my mind traveled back to 2011 when I had met a woman that appeared much younger than her age, who attended the dances regularly through the season. She was very thin and petite, somewhat timid, but smiled warmly as we were introduced. We spoke only a few moments before she returned to the dance floor that night. Patricia shared some tragic details about the woman’s life after our first meeting, and I started praying for her that night. Daisy (not her real name) appeared fragile, like a small flower swaying in a strong wind. She wore white ankle socks and clean white canvas tennis shoes, with a long cotton dress and usually a white sweater over the dress to every dance. Her demeanor touched my heart, and I added her name to my prayers.
While living in Tennessee, I learned that Daisy had become very ill, necessitating transfer to a care facility. I wrote her a card, and Patricia kept me updated on Daisy’s status. She was overwhelmed during this season of her life after losing her husband to cancer following a long illness and helping care for her elderly father while continuing to work full-time. Her caregiving tank was overdrawn by this time, but she visited her friend as time allowed. Daisy had never married and had no children, but she had some family who looked after her in the facility.
My friend messaged me in February 2015 that Daisy had died at age 62. I grieved over her life and what seemed like unanswered prayers. I spent time in prayer with the Lord, striving to understand what only God knew, desperately wanting His revelation. Peace came eventually, without the desired explanation.
Sighing deeply, the scene before me recaptured my attention; happy faces, laughing and smiling, enjoying the movement, the music, the joy of life. Patricia’s face was animated as she played and interacted with the others in the band, and I rejoiced in her healing following the pain of loss. She recently retired, enabling her to play more often and enjoy these events with new freedom. I listened to the caller’s chants while tapping to the lively music.
“Ladies go back now
Left hand, Do si do
Take two hands and bounce
Promenade
Right hand, turn everybody”
“Do si do
Promenade
Spin, Spin, Spin
Two hands, Bounce”
The song names were interesting, such as, “Shove the Pig’s Foot a Little Further in the Fire.” The French accordion player explained that this is an actual tool used in blacksmithing. “Sea Shanties” referred to the work performed by sailors on the great sailing ships. A few Scottish jigs and waltzes were also included. The music and the atmosphere kept a big grin on my face throughout the program. This was the opening night of the contradance season and by all accounts was a delightful success. I was blessed to watch my dear friend enjoy playing with the band who have been her friends for years.
As I drove home, I was filled with the pleasure of sharing moments with others, creating new memories, and gratitude for the people who have crossed my path. Special encounters have occurred since my return to Goshen, reconnecting with old acquaintances and making new friends. Forward steps under God’s guidance and blessing. The sweetness of life has returned.