Dancing

I danced a lot over Christmas. Spontaniously throughout the day, my one and a half year old nephew would be seized by the need to dance. He would run his stumpy little legs over to the the stereo, point, and relentlessly repeat the phrase "adooa", translated: "turn on the music so I can unabashedly dance my little heart out." As soon as he sees someone heading to stereo, he bee-lines it to the dance floor, the same spot every time. Limbs start flailing and Sam gets his crazy shuffle move in gear. Nobody is allowed to sit down while music is on or they will face the rath of Sam's chubby little pointer finger. He works his way around the room pulling every one up off their butts until the entire family is moving. Should he see someone sheepishly lingering in the kitchen through the corner of his eye, he goes over and pulls them into the circle - grandmas, grandpas, moms, dads, aunts, uncles - just move. My dad is shamelessly jerking around Bill Cosby style, Hansi is twirling like a ballarina, Christopher and Davis are copying whatever Sam is doing, the rest of us kind-of trying to find the beat...

Yesterday Jan and I had a conversation about dancing...wondering what it was in its purest form. It got stolen, just like everything else after the fall. I dont know anyone who isn't ripped to their core by the description of David dancing down the city streets naked, entirely unware of himself. It seems to me that heaven snuck into the other side that day, a piece of life before the fall. I think I decided long ago that I could never be the free-spirited dancing type, but what if I really am? What if I've been robbed? What if we could all step out from under the curse of self-consciousness now and then and talk to God in a different way? That would be fun.