Bring All of Your Troubles, Come Lay 'Em Down

In my mind, I am a dancer. I watch myself glide in graceful balletic fashion across a floor of varnished wood occupying an empty room. Mirrors line the walls. They reflect not only the movement of the dancer but the will of the journey. The meaning of the passage. Every movement is timed to the beat of the music. Soul train. Sometimes the music plays outwardly, moving in through my ears and claiming my imagination. Occasionally the music is silent, but that doesn't make it any less real.

I don't claim to be a connoisseur of dance. Quite the contrary, picking up a dance routine has never been one of my theatrical strong suits. I'm sure most of the directors I've worked with would be shocked to find that their rhythmically challenged performer draws on dance as a means of escape. But "bring all of your troubles, come lay 'em down," sings the band and, with the help of my imagination, my troubles fly with the movement; pushing, spinning, climbing into something beautiful.

There is something incredibly spiritual (and entirely scary) about giving away our troubles- allowing them to fly away to something that is much more equipped to handle such trials. Giving the frustrations, disappointments and confusion to someone who knows how to turn them into something beautiful. (That's a fragment, consider revising. Suck it, Word Processing).

Bring all your troubles, come lay 'em down. My troubles are heavy, Lord, they weigh upon me like a house, and I cannot shake them without You.