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The Tapping of Her Feet

"Don't get emotionally involved," professors told me. I'm afraid I didn't listen. Even after twenty-five years of opening my heart to patients, I don't regret participating in their walk of pain and joy. Their footprints have made me who I am. One set of those footprints belonged to a young lady named Angelique.

The first time I saw eight-year-old Angelique, her colors overwhelmed me. Yellow, blue, and green burst forth like a rainbow from the china doll occupying that wheelchair. She grinned and thrust a yellow doctor's order in my face. "Strengthen legs and teach her to walk," it said. Not too hard. Or was it? Observing her, I saw things I didn't want to see.

"Tell me about yourself," I said. With her mother's urging she told me her story.

"I've never had trouble walking or dancing. It's been hard lately to climb steps at school. I slipped and broke my leg. Six weeks later the doctor told me to stand, and I couldn't. Can you help me?" She looked at me expectantly with luminous brown eyes.

A warning bell went off like a fire alarm in my head, but I gulped and said cheerfully, “Let’s see what we can do." How could I tell a doting mother and her daughter that shortly muscular dystrophy would steal any gains we made? But we tried. And she walked --for a while.

For the next eight years we traveled this road together--Angelique, her family and I. Initially the shock of discovering that their only child had a rare form of muscular dystrophy almost tore the couple apart. But then I saw an amazing thing happen. Slowly, ever so slowly, I watched their faith emerge front and center. The insurmountable became manageable. Despair gave way to hope. And a diagnosis became a battle cry.

I watched the family mobilize for war. Her mother plunged into fund-raising. Her father remodeled the house. Angelique studied, joined clubs, and developed her faith in Christ. Muscular dystrophy placed her in a wheelchair but never trapped her spirit or determination.

That same determination and spirit brought dancing back into her life.

During the first few years of therapy, music held a prominent place for us. Classical and contemporary Christian music as well as jazz. accompanied our stretching and exercise sessions. One particular day when I made a home health visit, ten-year-old Angelique appeared despondent.

"What's wrong?" I asked. She turned her brown eyes to a picture on the wall. It was Angelique. Dancing.

"I want to dance again. Of all the things I miss, it's dancing." Then with fire in her eyes, she focused on me. "We can do it! We can find a way."

I gently tried redirecting her, but she grew more excited with the thought. Her hands began moving, her feet lightly tapping out a melody only she could hear. My mind raced. I couldn't say no. I said we would try.

Two weeks later she was standing in a frame my husband had constructed to my specifications. The moment arrived. I started the tape to our favorite Christian song and prayed to the God Who had brought us to this place. "Please, Father, just once more."

With all the strength we had, her mother and I maneuvered Angelique into a standing position. I was wiping the sweat off of my face when I first heard it, the tapping of her feet. With a look of ecstasy on her face, Angelique was slowly responding to the music, free to dance as her body would allow. Her mother and I looked at each other and could do nothing but cry. Angelique just laughed at us.

Six more years passed, and the time came that I had to change jobs. While eating pizza at her house that final day, I remembered many things. I thought about a family who turned tragedy into a step-by-step walk of faith. We had dismantled the standing frame, but we never stopped dreaming. Angelique put one dream in a closet only to pick up another. Her life would always challenge me to do the same.

Even now, when I least expect it, a haunting tune will invade my thoughts. I hear the faint tapping of feet, keeping time to the music. There can be dancing. Even from a wheelchair.

"I thank Angelique for teaching me to never give up on God's promises. God always carries through for us in our lives even when we give up hope.

The Bible says in Psalm 73:26 "My flesh and my heart fail; But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever".