Gaudy as it had suddenly seemed, I belonged to ballet and ballet to me, for I’d loved it and desired it before experience had told me it was evil. There was a raw, unfiltered beauty on the stage before me, and my God-created heart was magnetized to it. “Does belonging to God mean I have to give up my dreams?” I’d asked this once of Mama when I was small—maybe seven or eight—and it had nearly broken my heart to even voice it. “No, little one,” she’d answered. “But it means you’d best be wholly willing to.”
