Dancing and Wrestling
Our friend Alex Shippee shared this spoken word with us on Sunday. Here it is in its entirety (used with permission). What speaks to you from it?
DANCING AND WRESTLING
The line between dancing and wrestling is blurry
Am I trying to two step or tackle?
Is he trying to get my hips in rhythm
Or wrench ‘em out of their sockets?
See this season is a gift.
But how much I feel it depends
Am I wrestling or am I dancing?
See I often fear
That being queer
I just keep bothering God
When I knock on the door and
Fear that an eerie silence will follow
But I must believe that God likes it … loves it
When I draw near
In frustration, anger, or confusion
In joy, in hope, or in wonder
But part of the reframing is that he doesn’t
get tired of hearing me knock.
“Ah, my queer son has come to talk.”
And with a smile, he opens and says
Come in. The tea is still hot.
This is the gift of this season
That somehow it works wonders for my faith
That I’m working it out.
Perhaps not always with fear and trembling
But plenty of tears and grumbling
Because there is plenty a night
Where it really does feel like a fight
And I gave up trying to be right
Because when you wrestle God
He always seems to have the upper hand
But yet, I hold tight
Cuz what else do I have?
I'll take the hook from the right
If it means I get to know his name
And, maybe the blessing’s always been there
I thought I had to struggle and strive
But only when all my scheming fails
am I wrestling to survive
The line between dancing and wrestling is often blurry.
But I trust that he wants to be a part of the
process.
That when he made me,
It’s not like he sneezed and said oops.
But out of the 7%, he said you.
I want to talk to you about queer
Not him, not her, not them, but you
And out of the lucky 7%,
I’m the one who keeps knocking.
The one who keeps tackling
The one who keeps practicing
See the line is blurry
And God what about this?
And what about that?
This isn’t working
Oh, this is how I reflect you
I’m learning that queer is not a cross to bear.
Nor an unbearable burden
And when I come knocking,
God has the tea, pipping hot
Because he treasures these convos.
They are his invitations.
Because he doesn’t demand
He only invites
To dance.
And that’s what this is
A kid with no rhythm or rhyme
Learning to keep time
And though I know he likes to dance
do I also believe he loves to wrestle
That when tears and blood
Feel blended on my face
When a rage so deep
unearths hate and violence
Do I believe He loves to wrestle
Because then I'm held.
That in the struggle
To distinguish lies and truth
Culture and conviction
Calling and communal expectation
At least I know I'm held
Yes, at least I know I'm held
Because wrestling isn't boxing
One solid punch and I'm out
But God the creator of the universe
Actually loves to wrestle
Even when I fight back and forth
He is so glad to hold me
The line between dancing and wrestling is blurry.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s too late
But then dad says, Hey
It’s okay
If you don’t know everything about being gay
Because it is one step at a time
If you had it all down
And said I’m fine
We’d miss out on tea time.
The wrestling
The pressing
The knocking
The pushing back
The agency
It’s a gift for me
A gift for you
Where limps and blessings go hand in hand
Because faith is not just handed with a silver spoon
But it is trained in the trust
Of time and movement
Of steps and moves
Whether you can cha cha real smooth
Or barely hold on in the pain.
You love being invited into the process.
This season is a gift. Whether we're
wrestling or dancing
And I have laughed and lamented my life at
28, and 25, and 14 and 22.
Oh, the things I wish you knew.
But when I’m fifty
And look back at 32
I hope I can smile and tell myself
“Man! What a wild year?!
“Yes,” he says.
Because you were honest.
You kept knocking
We kept wrestling
You kept open to my request for the gift
Not because you were forced,
But because I wanted you
To dance with me
To keep in step with me
To wrestle and be held by me
Ah the gift of this season.
My faith is stronger for it
My trust in his character is deeper
And though I may stumble
And make a mess with the tea
Though I've got the Macarena down
But I'm fighting to hold tight
in the early morning light
You’d have it no other way
Man, I’m such a lucky man.
That God would want to talk to me
About sexuality
The lucky 7% because God is not just deity
But he’s my dance partner inviting me tea.
The one I wrestle with, learning to be held
In the trust and patience of learning the next
steps.
The line between dancing and wrestling is blurry
But oh the gifts of this season.
May I not forget the blessing that it is.