Parachute Dance

It was like every other week in my toddler music class. It was the end of the hour so I unfurled the parachute. Children and grown-ups circled round, holding edges as we lifted the parachute up and down.

We put the balls on the parachute and we bounced them like popcorn on a hot skillet. Pop. Pop. Pop. The balls flew in all directions. Every time, without fail, Taichi fell backward, rolling on the mat with laughter.Red balls. Yellow balls. Green balls. And Taichi's giggles rising and falling, joy exploding, uncontained, until the parachute was empty and the children ran to gather the balls for another round.

We sang a little song about colors. Whoever was wearing that color got to run under the parachute. Eddie wore a rainbow shirt to class. Chosen specifically for the song. As many colors as possible so he could run under the parachute again and again. Because Eddie loved to run. And dance.

Up, up, up it goes

Down, down, down it comes

If you're wearing blue or red, then it's time to run.

(Sung to the tune Row, Row, Row your Boat)

Week after week, Natasha would not join the dance. Hands clutched on parachute edges. Eyes wide. Circle rising. Circle falling. She remained immobile, holding tight to what was familiar. Unwilling to let go. Ignored the coaxing. The bribing. The encouraging. Nothing could get Natasha to move.

Until last week.

Mom said she would go with her. Tenative steps forward, they both inched under the parachute. Eyes upward, Natasha watched the parachute rise and fall. Her white-blond hair, full of static, joined the dance, waving in the air's movement.

And on her face--

Wonder.

And then it was over.

Sometimes heart miracles are small.

A tiny whisper.

A brief pause.

A short dance.

Unclutching what is familiar

Finding courage.

Moving into the unknown.

Into the dance. Into wonder.