top of page
Featured Posts
Recent Posts

A decade.

Chris Henderson

So many feelings ….

Every morning as I’m leaving for work, I take a moment here:

 

 

When working through emotions, I always need a way to see them, express them. Music has always been that avenue for me.


Over the last 15 years, one album has defined grief for me. It is Steven Curtis Chapman’s “Beauty will Rise,” written after the tragic loss of his daughter, Maria Sue. These songs were providential for me in 2009 after we had suffered the loss of both my dad and Juli’s mom within a two-month period. As important as that was then, they were life saving for me after we lost Robert.  Whenever I was stuck — unable to break the logjam of pain (and the feelings of loss, doubt, betrayal) within me, I would put on this album, and listen to different songs: “See,” “Our God Is In Control,” “God Is It True?,” “I Will Trust You,” “Beauty Will Rise,” and others. At different times, different words in those lyrics would pierce the stony wall around my heart and allow the pressure of the trapped grief to be relieved.


As time has gone by, I have needed that release less often, but I find that, even now, when it happens, the result is no less intense, no less painful. Over time, other songs have come along to assist me as well. Recently, I’ve been listening to Lydia Laird’s song, “The Heavy. The Healing. The Holding,”  in which she moves through the recent loss of her father. These artists expressing the pain and challenge of their losses and grief so openly helped me begin to come to terms with my own pain.


The bizarre thing about working toward that release is the strange joy that comes after — the ability to remember small little things about Robert’s life that I had unwittingly walled off to avoid feeling pain — things that are priceless jewels of life and love. That is the perpetual curse of grief; the only way to truly appreciate who you have lost is to continue to experience the loss.


Ten years later, our lives are certainly different. The aches and pains of life are unavoidable, — particularly every morning when I awake. In the same way that I can’t avoid those nagging, irritating, and limiting joint pains, I can’t run away from the reality that I still miss Robert — the Robert I knew back then, and the Robert we hoped he would have become.


Today, as we drove to another city to experience the crazy joy that our three-year-old grandson, James, provides, I listened to Cory Asbury’s version of “I Hope You Dance.” I’ve always loved this song: the original Lee Ann Womack version as Gladys Knight’s moving rendition. Now Cory has added his unique gifts to this very special song. At different times in my life, it has been particularly meaningful to me. This time, as the uncontrollable tears started to flow, I knew I was hearing this song as if Robert was singing it to me.


Understand that, so often when he was still with us, I would see his eyes looking deep into me — a mix of love and longing; pain and joy; restrained, yet free. There always seemed to be a haunting inquisition. Do you see … me? Can you see … me? I can’t truly explain it to you. It was like looking into the eyes of a three-year-old and a 90-year-old at the same time. It was like the suffering he had endured had aged him beyond comprehension, yet he was still our baby, our Robert. When I heard those lyrics, I couldn’t help but see his eyes looking back at me saying the words of this song to me. What does that mean? Surely, this is me transferring my own feelings onto him. 


But, then I think, that kid could dance like nobody’s business — unrestrained and free. He didn’t care what others thought of him, or how he looked, or whether it was a “real” dance or not. And his laugh … I’m not sure how to describe it. Let’s just say it was memorable. I remember the pain that would be in his eyes in the midst of one of his innumerable seizures, and then how he would come out of it and look deep into my soul as if he was sorry he had caused me to worry or be afraid. I felt like I was a pupil, and he was the teacher. I felt so inadequate, so insufficient. Still, he loved me in spite of my inabilities and my failure. Just like Jesus.


SO — HERE WE ARE.


Where do we go from here. If you’ve read this far and was hoping I had some incredible wise and novel advice to give to you, I don’t. I only have the hope for you that I still see in Robert’s eyes, the same hope that this song speaks to me:


Never lose your sense of wonder. Never take one single breath for granted. When you

come close to selling out, reconsider. Promise me you’II give faith a fighting chance,

and when you get the chance to sit it out or dance. 


I hope you dance.


Listening Library: “I Hope You Dance (Cory Asbury)

 

I Hope You Dance

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder

You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger

May you never take one single breath for granted

God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed


I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance


I hope you dance (dance)

I hope you dance (dance)

 

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance

Never settle for the path of least resistance

Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin'

Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin'


Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter

When you come close to sellin' out, reconsider

Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance


I hope you dance (time is a wheel in constant motion)

I hope you dance (always rolling us along)

I hope you dance (tell me who wants to look back on their years)

I hope you dance (and wonder where those years have gone)


I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean

Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance


Dance, I hope you dance (dance)

I hope you dance (time is a wheel in constant motion)

I hope you dance (always rolling us along)

I hope you dance (tell me who wants to look back on their years)

I hope you dance (and wonder where those years have gone)


Tell me who wants to look back on their years (dance)

And wonder where those years have gone (dance)


Songwriters: Mark Daniel Sanders and Tia M. Sillers

I Hope You Dance lyrics © Universal Music Corp., Sony, atv Melody,

Choice Is Tragic Music, Soda Creek Songs, Round Hill Verses Publishing

 

3 коментарі

Оцінка: 0 з 5 зірок.
Ще немає оцінок

Додайте оцінку
Гість
30 січ.

You have a Beautiful way of communicating to the soul. You always select the most fitting songs for the blog. I can remember Robert signing “mom,” “dad,” “milk” and other words. He is more “whole” than we are but hope to be someday. Mike Rich

Вподобати

Гість
29 січ.

Memories are eternal, as are our souls.💔

Вподобати

Dpino315
29 січ.
Оцінка: 5 з 5 зірок.

I remember Robert’s beautiful laugh! He was truly a gift. Your words have give me hope as I walk through the first year of missing my Stephen.

Вподобати
  • Instagram
  • Facebook
  • LinkedIn
Never Miss a Post. Subscribe to Our Newsletter.

Thanks for subscribing!

In Our Arms

LIFE UNEXPECTED
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Linkedin

©2025 JH Voice Studio,LLC.

All rights reserved.

In Our Arms proudly supports Morgan's, a non-profit agency leading a movement of inclusion serving families with children and adults facing serious health or developmental challenges.
bottom of page