The thing about Andrew is that he’s always been unexpected. Having gone through so much by the age of 23, I was sure there was no one out there who would have the right, odd combination of qualities to be a partner. And one day at church, which had become a major part of my life, I saw a cute boy. He was down front raising his hands and singing with the teenagers, but he looked older enough that he could be in his twenties. There was something about his freedom of expression even in a church setting that peaked my interest. What surprised me even more was that he was actually smart and had goals. Even though he was in school for youth ministry, he had switched from pre-law at Penn State because he felt that God called him to do so. He was a homeschooler, leading an almost opposite life to mine up until that point, but had dealt with his own adversity. And even when I shared some of the things I had been through, he was unphased. Within a week of really talking, both of us knew we would be in each other’s lives for the long haul.
As I had worked on getting back on my feet, evangelical Christianity became my way of making sense of things. And I was determined to now use my gifts for the church and really for a higher power. If I could somehow inspire others, particularly teenagers, with my story, maybe it would have all been worth it. I began volunteering with the youth ministry. And it quickly became my world. Suddenly, I was at the church multiple days a week. And there was a woman doing dance ministry. I had much more training than them, I could help them elevate the art form through worship.
It seemed simple enough. But it wasn’t. Somehow I had gone from a jaded, washed up twenty something year-old, to an almost naive on fire for Christ church member. All I could see was opportunity. I had a lot to give and the church seemed open to what I had to offer. Andrew and I got married 11 months after we started dating. He had proposed to me as a surprise at the youth ministry Christmas party. Our wedding was a beautiful celebration of our love for each other and for God. The red flags of women not being allowed to be in leadership, anti-LGBTQ rhetoric, the lack of diversity, and the fact that no man at the church seemed to be able to look me in the eyes, all seemed worth enduring. It was Andrew’s calling and I supported him as I also felt called to lead. But the cracks in the surface would start to show after we got married.
I had taken a job at an international relief and development organization run by the Mennonite Church. Although I wasn’t Mennonite, my mom had a fair trade store in Michigan so we were familiar with their sister fair trade organization. I couldn’t believe they were headquartered close to us and I needed something that paid more and wasn’t an hour commute away. With that job, it seemed like I was fulfilling my purpose. These were Christians who believed in protecting the environment. They were pacifists and excellent at working across faiths to provide humanitarian relief. The men even hyphenated their names when they got married! It was a very different brand of Christianity than at our church. I aligned with all of their beliefs, but absolutely did NOT understand the culture.
Remember me? I’m the loud, colorful, dramatic one. When I worked there, I started to wear black every day and hide on breaks because I didn’t know how to socialize with them. Everyone went to church together, lived next to each other, took the bus or rode bikes together to work. And they were all soooooo quiet. There was so much tension under the surface that I could feel, but couldn’t articulate. And I was in the Executive Office with access to highly confidential information and zero authority.
While it wasn’t the right fit culturally, I loved getting to practice Spanish at work. I loved knowing about all of the work we were doing around the world. I loved that there was a higher purpose to the endless meetings I was scheduling and taking minutes for. And, can you believe it, I loved that there were Christian “liberals” who liked Obama. Our church, our community, couldn’t have been more opposite. I still remember when our pastor invited his friend a Black preacher to speak at the church and announced to the congregation that he promised not to talk about race or Obama. You can imagine the look on my face when those were the only two things he talked about! And you can imagine the look on others’ faces when I clapped for what he said!
A lot happened in those first three years of marriage. I was still performing, still teaching, started my Pilates training, and started graduate school at the University of Notre Dame (another interesting religious institution!). Through a painful series of disillusioning events, we eventually left the church. And I left my job at the organization sure that having a Masters of Nonprofit Administration would make me instantly employable elsewhere. After applying to 100s of jobs and no offers, I got a call from a friend at Messiah University. They were looking for someone who could teach ballet and dance history in their new dance program. They needed someone right away and my resume of working at higher education institutions and a Mennonite organization along with a Master’s degree and training in ballet, made me the perfect candidate. I spent almost five years as one of two faculty members in the dance department at Messiah University. It was one of the places I felt the most creative freedom with choreography, and it was a cherished experience.
At this point, I was working five different part-time gigs and still performing. I auditioned for Pilobolus and got a call back. I decided to go to their summer dance program in Connecticut. Andrew was working for Apple and we tried to get him transferred to a bigger store so that we could leave Lancaster. Nothing seemed to work out. I still hoped against hope that at 30 I could still have a chance at dancing professionally in a big city. But the pull of Lancaster and my own commitments didn’t lend themselves well to running away to New York anymore. Plus, I didn’t have the courage. The summer I went to Pilobolus was beautiful. And I came home to perform with an amazing local dance company that did a lot of acrobatic work. I was feeling confident in my body, was loving dance again, and was considering how I could go to Philly more regularly for classes. Andrew couldn’t understand why I wasn’t happy with all of the dancing I was doing in Lancaster. It didn’t make sense to him why it wasn’t enough.
In August of 2013, I had a performance that required a lot of acrobatic work. During our final piece of the final performance, I did a front handspring into two guys arms, as they dropped me down to swing me back (a move we had done with no trouble many times), I hit the back of my head on the floor. It was wood over cement. I kept going. I would spend the next 6 months with bouts of headache, nausea, and dizziness. I couldn’t count my students when I was teaching. But I kept going. By the time summer hit I realized I couldn’t keep doing all that I was doing. Plus, when I figured it out, I wasn’t making nearly enough money either. Something had to give. I couldn’t keep going at this rate with no benefits. That summer I took a workshop in compositional improvisation with The Architects. And during the week long intensive it was clear, it was time to create space for something new. A month later, a developer friend reached out to me. He had a place in Downtown Lancaster that was vacant, but had been a tango studio. And he thought I would be the perfect person to take over the space.
Marie’s Story – Part VII 
Marie’s Move It Story – Part V 