Eliza Millican has never been very good at standing still. She routinely does handstands by the front door, and her family has learned to carry on whole conversations with her upside down. On summer afternoons, when the dance studio closes for its break, she dances around the living room just to keep moving. Sometimes she runs through her routines in the backyard, out by the chicken coop. “Basically,” says her younger sister, Carolina, “she’s dancing with the chickens.”
She's danced since she was three. “It's her language,” her mother, Emily, says. “It's how she expresses herself.” Her father, Clint, puts it more plainly: “She can't live without it.”
This year, that lifelong devotion was recognized in a way the family never saw coming. Studio of MoveMINT, the dance studio Eliza has called home for six years, awarded her its Dancing for Joy scholarship — a gift created in memory of a child named Joy, meant to lift the financial weight off a family for a season. Emily was sitting on the front porch when the studio's owner called. “I wept when I heard the news,” she says. “It was a very vulnerable and beautiful moment.” Eliza, she learned, had been an immediate choice for the scholarship.
Not Normal, by Design
The scholarship has Eliza's name on it. But ask anyone in the Millican house, and they'll tell you it’s the culmination of the entire family’s effort, love, and dedication to one another.
When describing the family dynamic, Emily and Clint say, almost in unison, “Non-normal.” “I used to think that was a bad thing,” Emily adds, “but God has taught us to lean into it. All five of us had to become a team.”
Some of that came out of necessity. Clint served in Iraq before he and Emily married, and deployed to Afghanistan during their first year of marriage. “We've had to cut and paste,” he says, referring to stretches when “I wasn't really as present as I hoped I would be.” All these years later, the family still talks openly about the long work of coming home. What Emily returns to is his honesty about it. “The kids have seen that their strong, tough dad can say, ‘Hey, I need some help,’” she says. “We face our challenges head on.”
These days, Clint is learning the groundwork of ranch management — though the real turning point, he laughs, was smaller and feathered. “They say chickens are the gateway drug.” They put him back in touch with nature and with himself. “Before Afghanistan, I was great with school. After, it felt like more of a challenge for me. God's allowed me to get in touch with myself again.” Fatherhood is a balance of strength and softness: “I want my children to be warriors. Empathetic and sympathetic, but fighters when needed.”
If Clint anchors one side of the team, Emily anchors the other. A counselor who helps children heal from trauma, she opened her own practice about four months ago and homeschools all three children. “When we are at home, there is a slowness if we need it. We want them to be self-led learners with intentional family moments along the way,” says Emily.
In Her Corner
Alongside Eliza's scholarship, the studio recognized Carolina, the middle child and a dancer herself, for the way she cheers on her older sister. “It made me feel very happy and joyful, and very grateful,” Carolina says.
Celebrating a sibling's spotlight isn't always easy. Years ago, when they enrolled Eliza in the competitive company, the Millicans made the hard call that Carolina would stay in classes but wait to join the company. Still, there's no rivalry to manage. “It's Eliza and Carolina together,” Emily says, “not Eliza and her sister.” So when the scholarship came through, the first thing Clint did was make sure Carolina understood what it meant for her, too. With the pressure eased, there would be more room for her own dancing.
And then there is Barrett, the youngest of the siblings, and his sisters' loudest fan. His finest hour came at a competition where Eliza didn't place. “He said, 'What — Eliza didn't place? Those judges don't know what they did. Someone needs to call the police,’” Eliza recalls, laughing. “He can be a little extra sometimes. But we love him.” When asked what he loves about watching his sisters, he says, “Just seeing them dance for God and for fun.”
For God, and for Joy
That competition turned out to be one of the defining moments of Eliza's young career, not for the loss, but for who showed up. Her teammates, family, and teachers surrounded her, reminding her what dance is really about. She now calls it “a sweet time of growth.”
When asked why she dances, Eliza answers without hesitation: for God. “I feel and know that God is leading me, that He's on stage dancing with me.” Wanting to honor both Him and Joy, the child the award was named after, she performed her first-ever solo, to a song called “Sweet Ever After.” “I say God picked the song for me,” she explains. It came on the radio one day, and she just knew. Emily remembers the performance as a full-circle moment. Afterward, a friend told her the dance had stirred her own affection for Christ.
When Eliza looks back on this year, her parents hope she remembers the joy and the intention behind it. “Her name is on it, but it's been a family effort,” says Clint. “When one does well, everyone does well. We all thrive together.”
As for Eliza, she knows exactly whom she'd thank, and for what. “For cheering me on in the toughest moments,” she says, “and for believing in me, even when I doubt myself.”