Always Bring a Banana to a Dance. Always.

I dived, like a little kid into a ball pit, into the mass of duvets on my bed. Careless, I flung my purse behind me into a corner of my room. There might have been a crash and the sound of cracking glass, but I ignored it and threw my heels after the purse. Was that a cat yowling? Strange, since we don't own a cat. But whatever. I was sinking into a sleepy fog of post-dance.

There are all sorts of pain. There is the pain of closing a car door on your hand: Bad. Or the pain of singing a hymn of sorrow as I flushed my dead goldfish (creatively named Rainbow. Hey, I was like 6!) down the toilet: Bad. Or even the pain that comes when you are reading a book that reads like a dictionary of long words you don't know and weighs as much as a scaly armadillo: Bad. But their are the good kinds of pain, too. Like the pain of laughing so much your face aches at the end of the night. The blisters on your feet (covered in Buzz Lightyear band-aids) from dancing yourself senseless. Or, best of all, the pain of loving your crazy friends so much it hurts. Or maybe that pain was just when Jimmer elbowed by ribs while twirling...

So if you are a wonderful human being (or alien, Dr.Who has opened up so many possibilities ;) then you read that blog post before this one about getting ready for a dance. Well, you'll be glad to know that everything fell in line and I had an amazing time in my high but still surprisingly comfortable heels. Here is a picture my friend Stephy (her blog is http://misschiefmadness.blogspot.com/) 's Dad took of all my friends and I dressed to the nines. (Or, at least the eights.) I know its hard to look at that much beauty at once, look away from the screen if you feel faint.

Voila! Left to Right: Gab, Caity, Steph, Caleb, Laurel, Moi, Abby, Heather, Brandi.

                       No, this is not a cabaret  monkey. He is Steph's brother Caleb with his Dr.Who props.

Thanks, Mr.Steen!

The dance was held at a posh banquet hall. The tables were decorated with candy-corn centerpieces and the food was pretty good but the theme really confused me. Instead of the usual fake-flower trellis they had a photo backdrop of a lit up city. In front was a plastic potted plant and a park bench in a strip of astro-turf. Ok, but what was the theme supposed to be? The Bum I Once Loved? Maybe Once Upon a Mugging? Enchantment at the Bottom of a Brown Paper Bag? 

The room was definitely split into different people groups that occasionally mingled then reformed. There was the tightly knit crop circles of dancers. One corner was the "Tall Awkward People Who Hate Dances" designated corner. Correction, "Mostly Tall and A Lone Short Person" corner. Do super tall people have a dancing phobia I, as a medium-height person, am not aware of? Or a fear of hitting their heads on chandeliers? When it comes to dances short-to-medium people really do seem to be Fun Size. 

The rest of the people were in minority groups. There was the pacing chaparones/photogrophers, the couples that stayed at their table fondling each other all night, and that one kid who circled the dance floor looking at people's feet. Sketchy as an etch-a-sketch and almost worse than the couple prairie-skirt grinding. Almost.

So all and all, a fun night with my friends boogeying and taking cheesy pictures in the photo-booth. Before I end this blog post with the merciful click of the publish button, let me say this.

Guys: Stop being such chickens! Ask a girl to dance. It doesn't have to be romantic, you can ask a friend. If you are a true gentleman, maybe you could ask one of the awkward, shy, or maybe not so pretty girls to dance. Seeing a guy being a gentleman will melt a girl's heart more than any pick-up line or a smooth move ever will.

Dancing on Crushed Candy Corn,

-Hannah

(P.S. The post might seem slightly disjointed because my STUPID, STUPID computer erased everything and I had to re-write it. One day, laptopy, you're gonna end up being recycled into a egg-slicer. Just you wait.)

Lipstick, High Heels, and Bullets

Tis' the season to dance and freak out about finding a dress. Yes, Fall Formal is coming. Your friends are going and it sounds like fun so, sure, why not? You sign up. A few weeks later it pops up, surprise!, like an unexpected guest at your door. You realize all of those "Oh, i'm sure something will work out"s...yeah, they aren't working out. Whats a girl to do?

The reason i'm bringing this up is 

1) I'm going to a dance tomorrow night

2) Its kind of planking on my mind right now and pushing out all other reasonable thought

3) This is so UNFAIR!

Why, you ask, is this at all unfair? Maybe this comparison of what a normal guy does and a normal girl does getting ready for a dance will help:

Girl: Sign up, pay, arrange rides.

Guy: Sign up, pay, arrange rides.

(So far so fair- but wait)

Girl: Spend weeks searching for a dress, shoes, and purse that match and are just the right level of formal for the event. Thrift, borrow moolah from parents, occasionally have dressing room breakdowns. (C'mon girls, everyones had one.)

Guy: Look under the bed for their nice pants. Take out the dress-shirt they stuffed inside their drum. Retrieve leathery shoes from their pet's cage. Wash all of the above if the more industrious gentleman.

Girl: Begin preparing for the dance hours before they leave. Shower, blow-dry, curl or straighten hair, shave legs (unless its No-Shave November), defy gravity and natural science with hair-spray and bobby pins to keep their hair's intricate updo in place. Apply foundation, toner, blush, bronzer, cover-up, primer, eyeliner (wet, gel, and stick), a few hundred coats of mascara, lipstick, maybe even false eyelashes.

Guy:Comb hair. Shave.Maybe shower.

Girl: Wear a dress, 3 inch heels, and hold a clutch that all match and that you can dance in. The whole ensemble must be sexy yet modest, glamour yet not over-the-top, sparkly yet not glaring, and posh yet not overly formal. 

Guy: "Mom, can you help me with this tie?"

Do you see what I mean now? Sure, guys might have to drive or buy a corsage now and then, but girls feel a social pressure to look like super models. Not to say dressing up for a night on the town isn't fun, it is, its just uncalled for when men complain about how long it takes the women in their life to get ready for events. Give us a break, guys. You've never walked a mile in 4 inch stilletos, now have you? 

So to all those guys: Tell your girlfriend she is gorgeous. Hold her bag while she gets punch. Dance with her even if you feel like a fool and would rather eat broken glass and milk for breakfast. Appreciate her. And, above all, don't infuriate her. You would be surprised how many beauty products can be used as weapons or how sparkly rhinestone clutches are just the right size for a taser...

Just Dance,

Hannah

"Hold My Crown - I MUST BOOGEY!"

I've been reading about King David in the Bible recently, and i'm constantly amazed. (I know you just read "Bible" and your interest just evaporated, but hear me out).When you say David, everyone thinks of this little kid with a sling-shot facing off a cartoon giant. The real David of the Bible was so much more, though. If you took James Bond, Indiana Jones, and the Prince of Persia and made them into one guy born into a Bible time family then saturated him in God's favor, you'd have King David. He was strong and skilled, slaying bears and lions and real-life giants when he was just a teenager. He was specially chosen by God to rise from a Shepard (a bit like being a fast-food employee or farm hand today) and was promised the throne of Israel, a powerful and influential kingdom of the Middle East. He was a dangerous warrior is battle, an anointed musician, and a man who would die in an instant to save his friend. Not to mention that the Bible takes the time to mention how attractive and desirable (aka, pulchritudinous out the back door) David was. Bond had nothing on King David's love life, either. David seemed to collect wives and concubines that he seduced, not to mention that he had one of the Bible's most scandalous affairs (not his best moment, for sure) that involved an indiscreet bath and murder. On top of all these achievements, however, David was a dancer.

Correction, David wasn't a dancer. He danced. He could have looked like a a spinning fool on crazy flakes when he danced, but he was so filled with the joy of the Lord that he couldn't contain it all. So he danced before God and all the people of Israel in celebration. One of his wives was watching from a window and later said to him:
"How the king of Israel has distinguished himself today, disrobing in the sight of the slave girls of his servants as any vulgar fellow would!"


(Aka: "How kingly you looked dancing today, David. Can't you keep a shirt on while you are gettin' jiggy? You're acting like a civillian, not royalty! You looked like a fool dancing all around.")


He shot right back at her: 
"It was before the LORD, who chose me rather than your father or anyone from his house when he appointed me ruler over the LORD's people Israel--I will celebrate before the LORD.Yes, and I am willing to look even more foolish than this, even to be humiliated in my own eyes! But those servant girls you mentioned will indeed think I am distinguished!"


(Aka: "Yo, wife! There was no shame because my dancing was for God. Anyway, God chose me, NOT your father the last king, to rule over Israel. I will celebrate and thank God for what he has done for me. I would embarrass myself so much even I thought I looked ridiculous if it was for God. Oh, and those servant girls in the crowd watching me? They will only think I am being kingly! True story."

(By the way, his wife ended up being cursed never to have children to the day of her death. Better think twice before despising God's people.)




"So great," you're thinking. "He was filled with great joy and danced with no shame before the Lord. Great guy, good for him, time to go check Facebook." But there is more. Anyone can worship God with a thankful heart when life is going well, blessing and favor being showered, a new iphone 4 in their pocket. But what about when your To Do list is longer than your day? What about when you are depressed, an emotional wreck? When you don't have the new car you want and you just wrecked the junker you do have?

David faced one of the hardest times of his life shortly after his adulterous affair with Bathsheba, a military friend's wife. 9 months, to be exact. His newest wife was pregnant. However, in punishment for King David's sin, God told him that his son would die. David's confidant and cocky additude suddenly deflated. In utter misery and grovelling desperation, he tore his kingly robes and refused to eat, pleading with the Lord for his son's life. This is what happened:


"And they said, “He (David's son) is dead.” 

To someone who isn't a christian, stumbling on this story without looking at the rest of the Bible, they must think that God is a heartless, cosmic dictator. Nothing could be farther from the truth. God had to punish David, like a parent taking away a toy that their child had stolen, but it was perhaps harder for God than it was David. No father enjoys seeing their kid in pain, but sometimes the right thing to do isn't the easy thing to do. How easy would it have been for God to just allow David to live happily ever after, no side-affects after committing adultery and murder. But it wouldn't have been right, it wouldn't be the best thing for David. It can be so hard to understand from our point of view, but God was only doing what was best for David, like any good parent would. 

Never think that God didn't care about David, though. God did. The price of sin is death, and since no one is perfect we all are sentenced to death, no matter how many good things we do. God loved David, you, and me so much that he gave his own perfect son to die so that we could live. Jesus was the ultimate sacrifice.


Right, back to King David.


"And they said, “He (David's son) is dead.” So David arose from the ground, washed, anointed himself, and changed his clothes; and he came into the house of the LORD and worshiped."

Wow. When I first read this I did a double-take. If you've ever lost a child, a sibling, or a family member you know what it feels like. Shock, disbelief, confusion; the feeling like someone has unceremoniously ripped your heart out of your chest and all that remains is a hollow place where all the memories and love of that person are supposed to be but never will. "How it feels when the sacred is torn from life, and you survive." The death of a loved one, especially a child, is an event that can destroy a family. It took months, more, for my family to return to a semblance of normal life after my baby brother died (another story for another time). So how, HOW, can David worship and dance before the Lord when his newborn son just died? Not to mention when David knows that it is all his fault?


Because David knew why God had taken his son, he knew God did it because he loved David more than the King could understand. He still knew, beyond the pain he felt, that God had saved his life and had made a way that despite David's sin he would see his son again one day. He knew that God is indescribable and worthy to be praised.


So he danced. I doubt that the same joy filled him, i'm sure he felt like a piece of dirt that had gone into the wash and became a shred of beaten lint. Not to mention he hadn't ate, washed, or slept for who knows how long. And yet he worshiped. David had enough wisdom to know that worship isn't just praising God when everything is thanksgiving and blessing, its about learning to dance in the rain.

So that is also why I dance. I'm no prima ballerina and i'll never be able to do a perfect grand je'te, but I will always strive to dance like King David. Unashamed, in love, with a heart of worship. Plus, have you heard me sing?

(Here is an incredibly subtle hint...)

There is always a story,
_Hannah


(P.S. Started writing this as my 20 minute blog post about why I dance, idea from Brianna's lovely blog. Here I am, two hours and some pretty heavy writing later...)

Thursday Night Fever (with complimentary A Disco Pancake Buffet)

SPLAP. I looked around to make sure no one was looking and picked up the pandcake that had dropped in the kitchen sink. There might be some dish soap residue so i'd just feed it to Emma. Speaking of the little munchkin, where was she? I followed her melodious voice and found her under the table. 

"Ooooo, Hannah Mooosick! I'm so glad you came. Do you want some free moneys? I have freeeeee moneysssss!" Emma pulled a blue coinpurse and chuckled like a con artist at a gas station with a arm full of fake Rolex. All she needed was some sandy stubble and she would have been a dead ringer for a 3 year old Sawyer. 

"What do you have, Emma?"

She grinned and carefully opened the coinpurse, making sure to keep it out of my reach in case I was going to grab and run. Deciding that I wasn't going to outright steal her most likely counterfeit money, she drew out a single, shiny quarter. Winking, she asked, "You wants the free moonnnneeeeeyyyy?"

"You can keep it, thanks."

"Okeyyy. Goodbye, Miss Moosick!" Quickly locking her purse she scooted back under into the shadows of the table, humming a slightly sinister version of "Shake Your Boo Thing" and lay in wait for the next sucker to come along. (really, where does she pick these things up?)

My pancakes tonight weren't exactly....pancakes. I honestly don't know what went wrong. I followed the recipe (mostly), I flipped them expertly (except for the ones on the ceiling. They'll come down eventually.), and they looked golden brown (okay, maybe more hard-core video gamer pale). They might not have been pancakes, but they were wonderful tortilla crepes!

You know those days when you never quite make it out of your PJ's and technically what you eat for breakfast isn't anywhere on the food pyramid? When you are so busy or lazy that you decide, nah, I don't need to do my hair or makeup today; no one's going to see me but my family anyway and what do they care? Today was one of those days for me. Unfortunately, not for everyone else.

I had just finished my math lesson and was stretching my arms and yawning. The girls were playing quietly, Dad wasn't home yet, and I didn't have to start to make dinner for at least 2 hours. Time to check out Charlie McDonald. 

For those of you who don't know Charlieissocoollike, shame on you. He is a British guy who makes various musical, talented, and entertaining vlogs and vids on youtube. Not all his vids are as charming as his hair, but on a whole I anticipate his new videos and have been a loyal fan for a very long time. Anyway, this was my chance to check up and see if he had a new video. Unfortunately, he did not. Sad face. However, not all was disappointed because I saw that one of my favorite K-pop bands had come out with a new song! Hooray and bunkigayo!

(A Note on KPop: Few people share my musical tastes on this and even some of my closest friends think i'm a weirdo for liking it. And maybe I am. But if you don't tease me about my G-Dragon then I won't tease you about your Keshia, John Lennon, and other differing musical preferences. I know I have a slight Asian obsession. Consider Kpop my therapy.)

Aaaannnyyyway, back to my delight. Seeing as I was alone and very happy, I decided to do a quick spurt of joyous victory dancing. Like everyone, I have my own styles. It was a explosive mixture of  "general optimism", "I'm in my PJs", "Math is done", and "Asian boy squueee!". Regardless, it was a pretty potent dance. (Not to mention ridiculous, as all victory dances are to some extent). It wasn't until the door bell rang that I realized that my sunburned neighbor (who bears an amazing resemblance to Charlie Brown) was watching the whole thing from the front door window and was awkwardly waiting for me to stop dancing like a fool and answer the door. After a moment of meteor-embarrassment and guppy fish-face, I smoothed my hair, turned off the music, and calmly strode to the door in my PJs.

"Hi."

"Yeah...is your Dad home?"

"Not right now, no."

"Well, I was a lookin' at your garden and was wondrin' if you wanted me to bring my plow over."

"I'm not sure, but I can ask him to call you when he gets home?"

"Alrighty.....bye'."

"Goodbye."

I calmly shut the door, waved farewell, and promptly flung myself onto the couch with a groan. The moral of my story? Dance like a fool in your PJs all you like, but only in windowless rooms. That, and always till your garden before you bust a move. Just to be safe.

Mystery Pancakes,

-Hannah

Photo Inspiration: Ballet

Sitting here at the wet windowpane and watching the rainy forest, I've been considering what inspires me. People, clouds, rain, eyes, art, light, etc. One thing that really inspires me, without fail, is dance. In particular, pointe ballet. I was in ballet for several years and while I was waiting to be picked up after class, I'd sit at the window of a classroom and watch the older students learn pointe. I admired the elegance, the beauty, the frustration of learning pointe; its an art that requires sacrifice to perfect. Personally, I think that pointe is a major art form right up their with oil painting, sculpture, and charcoals. This is one of my inspirations: 

"To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful. This is power, it is glory on earth and it is yours for the taking." ~Agnes De Mille

"Dancers aren't made of their technique, but their passion."

"Dancers are the athletes of God." ~Albert Einstein

"Why do I dance?.....Why do I breathe?" ~anonymous

Dance is a little insanity that does us all a lot of good." -Edward Demby 

"We dance for laughter, we dance for tears, we dance for madness, we dance for fears, we dance for hopes, we dance for screams, we are the dancers, we create the dreams."

"Dance can give the inarticulate a voice."~Pamela Brown 

"Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order."~Samuel Beckett 

Classical ballet will never die.
Ninette de Valois

Dancing is a way of life.

Thousands of emotions well up inside me through out the day. They are released when I dance. *Abraham Lincoln* 

Dancers are the athletes of God." ~Albert Einstein

Worship?

(I really like this picture. To me this says worship. Just look at their faces! They look so moved...)
The question on my mind today:

"What is Worship?"

The Dictionary says:

–noun

1.

reverent honor and homage paid to god or a sacredpersonage, or to any object regarded as sacred.

2.

formal or ceremonious rendering of such honor and homage:They attended worship this morning.

3.

adoring reverence or regard: excessive worship of businesssuccess.

4.

the object of adoring reverence or regard.

Or,

a feeling of profound love and admiration

Almost two years ago now I choreographed and performed a worship dance for my church to the song "My Redeemer Lives". My mom and I began preparing more songs with other women from my church, about one dance a month. On Sunday mornings I dance in the front and a little to the side of the congregation while my mom pushes a handicapped boy named Jesse in his wheelchair.

Dancing on during Sunday worship service was a struggle for me, still is. The idea of dancing from the heart, not thinking it out and choreographing it first, intimidated me. I've always been a people pleaser, so truly letting go and dancing while an entire congregation of people watched me? Terrifying. Still, I dance.

For several months now, I've felt so awkward and uncomfortable dancing. When I examine my heart attitude and reasons for dancing, they aren't what I'd hoped for. When I was forming my first dance, it wasn't because I expected to perform it for my church. It was because I felt moved to dance for God, I wanted to seek him and glorify him through song and movement. I wanted to worship him, alone in my basement. My heart was in the right place.

The reason why I dance for my church, I've come to see, wasn't as much to please God as it was to please my mom. I wanted to meet her expectations, make her proud by dancing during church. I said it was for God, yet now I question if that was(is) my truest motivation?

So what do I do? Do I stop dancing, take a break to meditate on God and try to return to the true heart of worship?

Am I truly worshiping?

Confused,

~Hannah Hoo