Touch The Sky

There is a unique place where joy and sorrow meet. I have written about it before: that place where exuberant joy and immense sadness cross paths. I found myself sitting in that place yesterday, surrounded by music and laughter and the twirl of little dresses, and dancing feet.  Joy and grief collided once again.  I imagine this will be the case for a while.

The joy of celebrating our 7th Annual Daddy Daughter Dance.  A fundraiser for Children Matter Family Life.  Our non-profit ministry helps foster children and their families.

My oldest daughter, the event planner, has a gift. A beautiful one. She has the ability to overcome many obstacles and plan a meaningful event in the truest sense, not just in logistics but in love. She pours herself into creating beautiful memories for the families who participate.  And this year, again, in the midst of moving, taking on new job responsibilities, and being a full-time mom, she helped bring to life something extraordinary, our Daddy-Daughter dance. A night to give fathers the opportunity to tattoo memories in the hearts of their little girls, they will carry for their lifetime.  A night built on the foundation of HIS love meant to shine His light.

I watched it come together as she gave her all, and I was so proud. Proud of her. Proud of what she built with her hands and her heart. Proud of how she guided her family, the staff, and volunteers to create this memorable evening. And then the joy I felt watching my three-year-old granddaughter experience her very first daddy-daughter dance. Her eyes wide, her little dress spinning, her hand holding tight to her daddy’s loving hand. What a special moment for us all.

I am grateful they live close again.  Allowing us to see them weekly, so I can help when I can, and be woven into the fabric of their everyday lives. What a gift, it is, what joy it brings.

And yet.

My youngest daughter wasn’t at the dance this year. The loss of our sweet baby Tatum. Bearing that pain while being present at our event was difficult. And for her, it would have been simply too much. I understood. I understood completely.

Everything around me was a trigger and a treasure at the same time.

And then came the first slow dance for the daddy-daughter pairs.

I watched my sweet granddaughter step onto the floor with her daddy. And the tears came without warning. The kind that don’t ask permission. Happy tears. Aching tears. Both. I was happy, so happy, watching that moment, and I felt such sadness under the weight of who was missing. I couldn’t stop crying.

I was comforted by my daughter and two dear friends.  My daughter hugged me, and in that moment, I felt guilty for dampening what had been a special moment for her.  I whispered, ” Go enjoy”.  My friend leaned close, put her arm around me, and I said, “It’s hard to understand how I can be this happy and this immensely sad at the exact same time.” And she said, “I believe this is how God feels about the world.”

I thought about that on the drive home.

What I felt was a painful aching and beautiful fullness, which must be a small echo of what He carries. He watches His children show love, compassion, and light to the world. He sees daughters with gifts that pour out like water. He sees daddies dancing with their babies. He sees giving people offering  their time and money to help us create something beautiful for girls and their dads. And He rejoices.

And at the same time, He grieves. He grieves over broken hearts, over babies taken too soon, over accidents and evil, and the hatred that runs deep from one human to another. He grieves over the pain we cause each other. He grieves over loss, and because of it, He deeply understands my pain.

I sat in the sadness for a few minutes that night. I didn’t rush it. I let the grief be what it was. I whispered, “I love you, baby Tatum,” and then slowly got up.  After a few moments, the fast songs returned. I found my sweet three-year-old, and we danced. While recently spending time with her, I taught her a simple little dance, and when the matching music filled the air, I went and danced with her. As we held hands and twirled around, I relished her smile and giggles and, for a moment, imagined sweet Tatum dancing from heaven with us.  And I rejoiced that in heaven she can dance!

I watched little girls press into their daddies as they held them close, and I remembered why we host the dance in the first place.  Yes, to raise money, but we chose this way to help others stop life and do the most important thing: spend time together.  Daddies stepping away from life long enough to instill their love for their little girls will be a memory they cherish forever.

Every year at this event, my heart is touched by the pairs of dads and daughters, and I’ve had moments when I thought to myself. I’m sure this brings God joy because, for that brief moment, we truly see an example of His love for us.  How He cherishes us and longs for us to be with Him in heaven when the time is right. How much He loves those who are there with Him.

Once again, I was reminded to live my life in a way that brings Him joy. To share compassion. To do good work that honors Him. And in doing so, I will honor my sweet baby Tatum.  Carrying her memory forward in love, keeping her legacy alive in the light I choose to share.

I believe with everything in me that living fully is how our family in heaven would want us to live. Not performing joy, not suppressing grief, but letting both be true. Weeping as Jesus did when weeping is what is needed. And then rising, dancing, rejoicing because life, even broken life, is still a gift.

Deep down, I know this world is not our home. We are just passing through. And one day we will all move back to be with our heavenly Daddy.  Every tear wiped away, and exuberant joy as we are reconnected to Him and our precious family.  

We will definitely dance.

Until then I will feel both. The happy and the sad were never meant to be enemies. They are simply the full measure of a heart that loves deeply.

And that is okay. Because He does too.