It’s been six days. She looks up towards the sky, expecting its blueness or the white of clouds or the splash of rainwater against her face, but is instead met with the same cold grey of the Jericho wall. Dead grass crunches beneath her every step, the silence surrounding her only made louder in its breaking. How much longer?
She’s alone until she’s not. He meets her, walking backwards ahead of her so as to still look at her and talk with her. The hills are easy for him; he doesn’t ever tire or pause to breathe or stumble on loose rocks. He smiles at her and pushes her forward.
“I promised you, remember?”
As they finish their lap around the city, she asks, “What about tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here,” he says. “But tomorrow’s longer. Tomorrow’s harder. But at its end… we dance.” He smiles again. He’s always doing that. She imagines him dancing. Moreso, she imagines herself. She hasn’t danced in so long; she’s not sure she remembers how.
“I’ll teach you,” he says, as if he’s read her thoughts.
She’s missed him, the way she feels when she’s in his presence. She had wandered so far from him, hadn’t known how to walk or talk or be with him. He had chased after her anyway, had walked ahead of her and provided for her. He had loved her, even when she didn’t know how to let him.
As she sits down to rest beside him, she smiles. She can’t wait to dance.
As I’ve been sitting with the Lord during my morning devotions, He’s revealed so much of His goodness to me. I walk with Him every morning (literally) in our backyard, pursuing relationship and conversation with Him. A few days ago, He spoke something new over me. He told me I’m in a season of walking, a season of pursuing Him through my obedience and listening to His commands. But, I’m so close. The walls are beginning to crumble. He will have victory.
And when He does, I will dance. We will dance together.
