To Bow and to Bend, We Shan’t Be Ashamed
Teach me to do Your will, for You are my God;
May Your good Spirit lead me on level ground.
Psalm 143:10
Dearest Daughters,
I often think of the calling of womanhood—of being a wife, a mother, a servant of Christ—as being something like the role of a dancer.
Motherhood, for one, quite literally keeps you on your toes. But beyond that, there’s a kind of sacred choreography to this life we’ve been given.
A few months ago, I found myself singing the old Shaker hymn:
’Tis a gift to be simple, ’tis a gift to be free,
’Tis a gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
’Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed;
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.
That line—to bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed—settled in my soul. I pictured a dancer: fluid, strong, bending with grace and purpose. And I said in my heart, This is what it means to be a woman in submission. This is what it means to live under a mission.
But before I explain that fully, let me tell you something about dancers.
A dancer’s flexibility is out of the ordinary. Her limbs move with extended range—high leg lifts, deep back bends, open hip rotations. Where the average person may lift their straight leg to 70 or 90 degrees, a trained dancer can often reach 120 to 150 degrees. In back extension, she may show 30 to 40 degrees more mobility than most. But this isn’t natural—it’s practiced. It’s built by daily stretching, by targeting not only passive flexibility (how far a joint can go), but active flexibility—how well the body holds and controls those movements with grace.
Over time, the dancer’s muscles and fascia actually lengthen. Her nervous system adapts to the new capabilities. Movements that once felt impossible become second nature. This isn’t occasional effort. Dancers invest hours each day training their bodies to move in obedience to music, to choreography, to story.
Yet no dancer would say of their trainer, “He’s demeaning me,” or “He makes my life a drudgery.” They would believe that their potential had increased, their capacities expanded.
So what does that mean for us, daughters?
It means that we, too, must be willing to stretch—to bend in the service of something beyond ourselves. Ultimately, that “something” is the mission of God. And within His design, for those of us who are married, it includes the mission of our husbands, who themselves should be submitted to the mission of Christ.
In the beautiful order of family and church, everyone is under a mission. Submission isn’t about inferiority—it’s about choreography. It’s about alignment.
But here’s the truth: our natural selves are stiff. We are not born spiritually limber. Our hearts are rigid in self-interest. Our ambitions resist bending. Our habits are slow to yield. But if we want to move in step with God’s dance—if we want to be graceful in His design—we cannot just stretch when we feel like it. We must stretch with intention.
We stretch ourselves to love more than we thought we could.
We stretch our wills to yield when it feels unnatural.
We stretch our hearts to serve when we feel empty.
We bend our ambitions, our comforts, our time, again and again.
Like dancers, we must train. The connective tissue of our souls must lengthen. The muscles of humility, patience, and compassion must be worked daily.
Then, when the music of life swells and shifts, we will not break—we will move.
To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed;
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.
And in that movement, we will reflect the beauty of our Maker.
With love always,
Mom
