Learning to Dance Again

 

I thought I Would Never Be the Same

There is a phrase I’ve repeated countless times since Q passed away:

“I will never be the same.”

For a long time, I meant it in the saddest way possible.

I believed I would always be less than who I once was.

Less joyful.

Less carefree.

Less hopeful.

Less alive.

When Q died on April 9, 2024, it felt as though my entire world died with him. Not only was I grieving the loss of my husband, my best friend, and the father of my children—I was grieving the loss of the woman I used to be.

The woman who laughed easily.

The woman who dreamed freely.

The woman who wasn’t carrying around a heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

In those early days, I convinced myself that survival was the goal.

Just make it through today.

Then tomorrow.

Then the next day.

I believed God wanted my surrender more than my happiness. That perhaps the lesson in all of this was simply learning how to suffer well.

And while there is certainly truth in surrender, somewhere along the way I unintentionally adopted a dangerous belief:

That grief had become my identity.

I wasn’t just grieving.

I was grief.

I wasn’t just carrying pain.

I was pain.

I wasn’t just walking through suffering.

I was suffering.

The loss became so intertwined with my identity that I began believing my future would always be defined by what happened to me.

I Didn’t Choose the Loss, But I Chose the Healing

As I shared in my previous blog, I Didn’t Choose the Loss, But I Chose the Healing, I eventually came to realize something life-changing:

I didn’t get a vote in the loss.

I didn’t choose the phone call.

I didn’t choose the heartbreak.

I didn’t choose widowhood.

But I did get to choose whether I would participate in my healing.

At the time, I thought choosing healing was the destination.

I know now it was only the beginning.

Because healing isn’t one decision.

It’s a thousand small decisions made over and over again.

It’s choosing hope when despair feels easier.

Faith when fear feels louder.

Gratitude when bitterness feels justified.

And sometimes, healing looks like learning to dance again.

Not literally.

But spiritually.

Emotionally.

Mentally.

Learning how to embrace joy without feeling guilty for it.

Learning how to laugh without apologizing.

Learning how to look toward the future without feeling like you’re betraying the past.

When Healing Feels Like Betrayal

For months I unknowingly carried around the belief that if I ever felt truly happy again, somehow I would be dishonoring Q.

As if my sadness proved my love.

As if my suffering kept me connected to him.

As if healing meant letting him go.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

The God Wink I Never Saw Coming

One afternoon I was listening to Levi Lusko and TobyMac share about their grief journeys.

I have always felt connected to TobyMac’s story.

Just a month before Q passed away, he bought last minute tickets for our family to attend a 

K-LOVE concert. One of the kids had to work, and Q actually covered the shift so all of us could go together.

That night TobyMac shared about his grief journey of losing his son Truett, and he performed the song Faithfully. 

At the time, I had no idea how much those lyrics would one day mean to me.

After losing Q, that song became one of the anchors God used to remind me of His goodness.

So when I came across a conversation between TobyMac and Levi Lusko nearly a year and a half later, I stopped scrolling and listened.

Then Levi shared something that brought me to tears.

The Question That Changed Everything

After the sudden loss of his daughter, he felt God ask him:

“Levi, if I healed your limp… would you still fake one?”

I couldn’t stop crying.

Because suddenly I realized God wasn’t just speaking to Levi.

He was speaking to me.

Lori, if I healed your limp, would you still walk like you’re wounded?

Would you still define yourself by what happened?

Would you still live as though the grave gets the final word?

Then I felt something in my spirit I will never forget.

Not audibly.

Not dramatically.

But undeniably.

I felt the Holy Spirit whisper:

“Lori, if I asked you to dance again before you thought you were ready, would you say yes?”

Not when the grief disappeared.

Not when life felt fair.

Not when I had all the answers.

Right now.

Would I trust Him enough to dance?

Would I trust Him enough to step into joy?

Would I trust Him enough to believe He still had a future for me?

Healing Isn’t Forgetting

Because here’s the truth:

Healing isn’t forgetting.

Healing isn’t moving on.

Healing isn’t pretending the loss didn’t happen.

Healing is allowing God to redeem what the enemy intended to destroy.

Healing is believing that your story didn’t end when your heart broke.

Healing is understanding that grief may always travel with you, but it no longer has to drive.

And in that moment, I realized I had a choice.

I could continue identifying with the wound.

Or I could identify with the One who heals it.

I could stay camped beside the grave.

Or I could follow Jesus toward resurrection.

I could keep looking backward.

Or I could trust Him with what lies ahead.

Surviving Was Never the Goal

I put down my phone.

Lifted my hands.

And surrendered.

Not because I suddenly felt strong.

Not because I suddenly understood God’s plan.

But because I knew I didn’t want my story to stop at survival.

I wanted to live.

I wanted every ounce of suffering to be used for His glory.

I wanted every scar to become a testimony.

I wanted every tear to water something beautiful.

I wanted to become a willing vessel for whatever God still wanted to do through my life.

And perhaps most importantly—

I wanted to stop viewing joy as something I lost and start viewing it as something God was restoring.

From the Grave to Resurrection

The enemy wants us to believe our suffering is the end of the story.

Jesus reminds us it can become the beginning of a new chapter.

God never promised me a life free from pain.

But He did promise He would never leave me in it.

He never promised me answers.

But He promised me His presence.

And while I may never fully understand why some things happen this side of Heaven, I do know this:

He is still faithful.

He is still good.

He is still redeeming.

He is still resurrecting things that look dead.

Learning to Dance Again

Today I choose healing.

Tomorrow I will choose healing again.

And the day after that.

But now, I choose something else too.

I choose to dance.

Not because my grief is gone.

But because my God is greater.

Not because my heart wasn’t broken.

But because He is healing it.

Not because I know what the future holds.

But because I know Who holds it.

May the world look at my life and wonder how someone who has walked through so much loss can still dance.

And may the answer always point back to Jesus.

Because the girl who once thought she would never be the same was right.

I’m not the same.

By God’s grace, I’m becoming someone new.

And I’m finally learning how to dance again.

💃❤️‍🩹

I’d love to hear from you.

Has God ever asked you to take a step before you felt ready?

What does “learning to dance again” look like in your season of life?

Share your story in the comments below. Someone else may need your testimony today ❣️