Jeté, échappé, a stag leap and a pirouette — I’m not a dancer but there was this moment of freedom and I danced a dance of worship.
Being home alone without the cacophony of kids and their chatter and no pressing duties as mother and wife must have dropped my self-conscious restraints. I’d finished up scrubbing tubs, toilets, doors, walls, floors — a deep cleaning kind of day, and I paused to listen to the radio. In my usual practice, I’d been praying to myself throughout the day, petitioning God for blessing for my family.
I’d just changed the sheets on my oldest son’s bed, and glanced at the photograph on his dresser. He was only a toddler, barefoot in the salty, wet sand with his diaper-sagged jeans rolled up, pointing in awe at crashing waves. I was overcome with love and emotion. Now he’s a boy-man, and I breathed out the prayer that every believing mother prays over her child: God, would you protect him, bless him, fill him with your Holy Spirit, direct his path, give him the grace and courage to follow You all his days?
And then, in the marvelous exchange that happens in the miracle of “it is more blessed to give than to receive,” I received a piece of the very blessing I prayed for my son. Not that I prayed for him to break out in dance, but the Spirit of God does move in wonderful ways.
The song on the radio was “Fields of Grace,” and just like the lyrics said, “I’m dancin’ with my Father God in fields of grace.” Dancing before the Lord is not new or foreign to me, but in polite society in the circles I run in, it’s not a frequent occurrence.
I felt someone watching me, so I clearly hadn’t lost all inhibition. I looked out the window in the middle of a twirl and there were the lambs staring at me. Oh yes. I do believe they knew exactly what was going on and wanted to join me. And now I’m positive that David must have danced before the Lord out there in the fields while he watched over his sheep, and they looked on in wonder, possibly wishing they could dance, too.