Tanned feet dance across a dusty floor. Blistered hands are raised high. Voices are off key and guitar strings are broken. Laughter, joyous laughter fills the pavilion. A marvelous sight. One I so often take for granted but one Our Father finds precious.
As His children worhship He doesn’t just sit and watch as we dance and sing to Him. He stands beside us, taking our dirty, blistered hands into His own. Waltzing. Skipping. Dancing. Jumping on the dusty floor right along side of us.
I’m 8 months into the race and I often forget that. I get so caught up in the routine of worship I miss the opportunity and invitation I have to dance. When I take a step back and accept the invitation to dance with My Father, my worship becomes more than a song. It becomes a heart cry. My blistered hands aren’t just raised out of habit, they are raised out of desperation and praise. My dirty feet dance across a dusty floor because there is so much joy I can’t stand still. They skip and run and leave smudged foot prints in the dirt because I tangabaly see the goodness of My Father.
I think just how often I’ve denied the opportunity I’ve had to dance. I haven’t just missed seeing the beauty of my footprints smudged across a dusty floor. I’ve missed seeing My Fathers footprints carefully intertwined with my own.
So here’s to saying yes. Here’s to always accepting the invitation to dance.
