I love to dance. I’ve loved it all of my life. I took ballet for seven years. Tap for at least four. The photo at left is from the spring recital when I was in the sixth grade.
My dress and hat were a brilliant red. Mom saved that costume and a few others, and many years later, my daughters would dress up in them until they eventually fell apart. The dresses. Not my daughters.
As a young adult, my favorite dance was country swing. I was pretty good at it. But that was long ago and far away.
Watching Dancing with the Stars makes me want to learn to ballroom dance. But I know I would move more like Cloris Leachman than Jane Seymour. (If you watch the show, you know what I mean.)
These days, my dancing is reserved for private times of worship, and that suits me fine. Because God doesn’t tell me I look silly. Like my mom when I was little, God thinks I’m adorable. It took me a long time to finally believe that about my Abba-Father.
God thinks you’re adorable, too. Just in case you were wondering. So go ahead and dance before Him. Raise your voice in a song of praise while you’re at it. Sing at the top of your lungs. (Aren’t you glad He tells us to make a joyful noise and does require that we be pitch perfect?)
~robin
