I witnessed some truly sacred moments at my Thursday morning Jazzercise class this week. When I first started going to these classes, I just thought they were about me and getting in better shape and burning some calories (so I could still eat ice cream without continuing to be the size of a small sow). Little did I know that it was and is also about loving, supportive community.

Several months ago one of my favorite instructors, Nicole, had to temporarily give up teaching (and even being a Jazzercise participant) in order to undergo surgery and treatment for thyroid cancer. Unfortunately, the cancer was so extensive that part of her vocal chords had to be removed and she was left with only a small fraction of her voice. And a voice is a fairly significant part of being an instructor — for directing moves, for encouraging proper form, for distracting with fun stories, and for inspiring confidence when we think we don’t have what it takes to get all the way to the end of a routine.

After Nicole had recovered a bit from surgery, she came just to participate in a class. When the instructor invited her to help lead a routine and she did it successfully, Nicole was heard to say: I’ve still got it! And that inspired one of the most touching and supportive displays of Jazzercise community that I have ever been privileged to witness and be a small part of.

Secret emails flew about. Shirts were located. Orders were taken. Supplies were purchased. An industrious and creative Jazzer made over 50 shirts that said: You’ve still got it, girl! And one shirt that featured a thyroid cancer survivor ribbon on the back and the words “I’ve still got it!” on the front.

Meanwhile Nicole went through her remaining radiation therapy and strengthened her use of her remaining vocal chords. Then last Thursday she came back to instruct our morning class again. She was beaming, receiving hugs and feeling confident in her red shoes! We were all hiding our special shirts under our hoodies and jackets. And when Nicole started up the music and turned to face us, she saw a sea of black shirts with bold white letters proclaiming our confidence in her — a beautiful, strong and courageous woman — and everything she possesses as a person . Watching Nicole’s reaction was one of those give-you-chills, God moments. She was clearly both surprised and extremely touched.

After a momentary pause so that Nicole could don her special version of the same shirt, class started. And the incredible witness of this community of people who exercise together continued. I have never been at a livelier Jazzercise session. When Nicole’s voice tired, participants added the words. Song lyrics echoed off the walls and every routine ended with cheers and applause. And while her energy level had clearly not fully recovered, the Jazzers exuded energy that kept Nicole going all the way through to the last note and last move of the hour-long routine.

So many people wanted to welcome Nicole back, that the studio was far more crowded than usual. But everyone cooperated and adjusted to accommodate it. There was a feeling that we were all part of one body, all in this together — with each other and with Nicole — and that a community bound in providing love, acceptance and encouragement has extraordinary power. Being one supportive shirt-wearer among the many felt, in the moments of that class, like both an honor and a privilege.

Welcome back, Nicole — you’ve still got it! And thank you fellow Jazzercisers — you widely diverse group of women and one brave man — for building such uncommonly holy community in the midst of a young woman’s misfortune and the routine activity of life.