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Devotional Archives -- DanceFebruary 2, 2004— His Deep Care Barren
branches stretched toward a gray sky. The grass, brown and brittle,
contributed to my feelings of a dry, stark winter. The grief in my heart
only accentuated my perception. As I grieved I
rejected the idea that God could grieve with me. I couldn’t stand the
thought of Him crying over our hurts. That would mean He would have
continuous grief as He looked over His creation. The next
morning I prayed about God’s grief and He revealed the deeper reason I
so rejected the idea of Him grieving. I’d been asking to know Him more.
I wanted to know the beauty, the joy, and the wonder of Him. But entering
more deeply into His heart also meant sharing His pain. I didn’t want
that part. He also showed
me that it scared me to see God as emotional. If He grieved and cried with
us did that mean He was unstable, untrustworthy? I compared God to people
I knew whose emotions were out of control. Lack of ability to handle pain,
anger, fear, and disappointment made them a threat to my emotional safety.
Was God like that? Thankfully,
God showed me His emotions of pain were not to be feared. I came to
understand that because He loved me, He grieved with me. Author Larry
Crabb wrote in the book “Shattered Dreams” that it is a little like
taking your child for his first immunizations. I remember taking our first child, Sarah, in for her shots. Her
trusting eyes looked at me with the shock of betrayal as the nurse jabbed
her with the needle. I cried with my baby as the nurse told her, “Your
mommy didn’t do that to you, honey.” I could have protected Sarah from
the momentary pain of the needle, but I felt the greater danger was the
disease the immunization fought, so I allowed my sweet baby to hurt. I think I must
have felt a bit of what God feels when He allows pain in our lives for our
own good. At any minute He could stop it. He could step right in and take
away the things that wound us, but like a good parent, who allows the
needle of immunizations, He stands there allowing the punctures of life He
knows we must endure for our emotional and spiritual health. With that
thought in mind, it’s easy to see God grieving with me, crying with me,
and holding me close. He chooses to enter my grief so I can find ultimate
healing, his loving tears a balm to my wounds. Maybe
you’ve already grasped this beautiful truth—the God of the universe is
right there with you, sharing the pain you carry today. Lean into Him, my
friend. Let’s rest in our Father’s embrace, trusting Him to give us
only His best care. February 9, 2004— The
Cobbler The
music of the symphony reached like long, melodic fingers probing my heart.
Somehow it wasn’t just another educational field trip. As the music
swelled, my eyes filled. Its sheer beauty overwhelmed me. I sat there,
entranced, as a deep longing rose within me. I wanted to experience such
beauty and then create it to share with others. My heart opened to the
Spirit as He used the deep bass of the tuba and the lilting melodies of
the flutes to get my attention. I leaned forward as they played a song based on a book written by a fifth grader in Denver and put to music by a cellist in the symphony. The brimming tears began to flow, in little rivulets, down my cheeks. See, the cobbler in the story didn't know how to dance. The whole village loved to dance, but the cobbler was kept so busy mending their shoes that he never learned. One
especially gorgeous day the mayor cancelled the normal business so the
villagers could celebrate the beauty by dancing together. The whole
village met in the streets—except the cobbler. His hammering could be
heard in the distance. A little boy, who played violin, heard the cobbler
working and asked permission to go and get him for the dance. When it was granted, he went to the cobbler and played for him. The busy cobbler didn’t stop to listen, but, against his will, his feet started tapping and in frustration he told the boy he didn't know how to dance. The boy slowed the music so the cobbler could learn. When the cobbler grasped the skill, the boy ushered him out to the waiting village where all the inhabitants burst into cheers. My
tears flowed because I was the cobbler. Slowly, I realized that God was
calling me to dance. There was much I hadn’t yet discovered—beautiful,
joyful, and creative things. The Lord wanted to free me to discover Him
and through that discovery become who He created me to be. I was too busy fixing shoes, narrowly focused on the stuff of life, to notice. There were shoes of my pain, shoes belonging to loved ones, shoes I picked up at church, or in my work—and they were in the way. I couldn’t rest in His grace or dance in the wonder of it—I was working too hard at life. What about you, my friend? Do you miss out on the beauty in life because your head is bent over the cobbler’s bench? Is there a piece inside of you begging for release? Do your toes long to tap out an unexplored tune?
February 15, 2004— Do You Want Me? I
hadn’t wanted to talk with anyone. As I hung up the phone I stared out
my kitchen window at the falling snow. It seemed as endless as my tears.
Maybe it was good my friend knew what I was going through. She promised
that if I couldn’t handle my classes the next week she’d teach for me.
I walked to the bathroom, stared into the mirror at my red-rimmed eyes and
grimaced. The preceding fall God taught me to look underneath
my desires for the deepest desire of all, Him. He promised me that during
this difficult time He was doing what was best for me. That didn’t change how hard it felt. I cut back on my
responsibilities, hoping I could refuel and pick them up again. Instead, I
seemed to reach the end of my resources. My endless prayers changed none
of my circumstances. Late one night, I sat alone in my blue recliner
reading Shattered Dreams and journaling. The Lord spoke to my
heart, What if I never give you the things you’re asking Me for? Do
you still want Me? Did I? My breath caught in my throat. Did I still
want Him if He didn’t make my life easier? Did I still want Him if He
didn’t give me my way? Did I want His gifts or His person? His direct, simple question stopped me short—but I
knew the answer. I want you, Lord. No matter what. Instantly, the hopelessness in my heart shifted to
quietness. I stood, put a worship song on my CD player, and as the music
swelled, I raised my hand to Him, grasping a piece of His Deity—of His
magnitude. He was truly King of all, worthy beyond anything. I swept across the room and then bowed before Him. My
dance of surrender ended on my knees as I again offered God the throne of
my heart—the throne I’d given Him years before. The profound, humble
worship rising within me was deeper than I’d ever known. Perhaps I felt
it so intimately because I gave Him claim to deep parts within me—places
I hadn’t realized I withheld. Since that time I’ve often asked myself if I want Him or the gifts from His hand. Beside my computer hangs a quote from Letters to the Thirsty by Ed Miller: "I have set my heart to know the LORD, not His plan, or some creedal statement about Him, or even the many mercies that flow freely from His hand. Himself I now desire, and nothing else." Where is your heart set? Oh
Father! In your grace retrain our hearts ***************************************************************************************** February 23, 2004 You
Just Might Learn to Dance The
strands of “It Is Well With
My Soul” flowed through the sanctuary and waltzed into my heart. I’d
come through a season of difficulty, an autumn were I felt crushed and
broken, like brittle leaves that crackle underfoot in the fall. As
winter began, the fallen leaves in my heart were blanketed by the clean
white of surrender. I’d learned to seek God for Himself, not just as
Someone to fix the things in my life that I didn’t like. Yes! It was
well with my soul! I stood as the singing began and sang with a free
heart. When
the preacher spoke, my eyes were drawn to a different verse in the passage
he referred to. It spoke about God casting down idols. As I read, I knew
my season of pain had a purpose. My King had chosen it to cast down the
idols of my heart. As
I sat in church that day I knew I’d held onto many idols—idols of
relationship, money, comfort, and ease. The biggest idol to topple was
what I called the idol of the American Dream. Somewhere my “right” to
life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness, had crowded out my Lord’s plans
for me. I
put so much focus on acquiring a house, settling in, and living the
American Dream that I felt cheated by our hard times, like God let me
down. It took awhile to realize that the American Dream and God’s will
are not necessarily synonymous. It
felt good for God to take the throne of my heart. I was glad He’d
allowed pain in my life that fall. It was worth it to have such peace
inside. When
the worship time at church turned to praise songs, I did something I’d
never done before. I couldn’t help it that day—my whole being had to
show God how much I loved Him. I looked nervously around the room, trying
to find a place of escape. I HAD to dance to Him—and I wasn’t
attending one of those churches where dancing was normal protocol! With
the music singing through my soul I slipped out of the sanctuary into the
foyer. Hiding behind the closed doors I raised my hands to my
King—twirled in circles, knelt before Him. I ached to express my
worship—for He was more truly my King that He’d ever been before. How
about you, my friend? Are there idols in your heart that get in the way of
your freedom? Is there something so dear to you that it blocks God’s
working in your soul? Is it so precious you are afraid to surrender it? learn to dance. So
if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed. ***************************************************************************************** March 1, 2004 Sparkling
on the Dance Floor I awoke that morning, before
the sun came up, to mounds of white shimmering in the soft light cast by
the lamp pole in front of our home. All day I marveled at the fresh, clean
beauty. That night we went out. The road in front of our car danced with
the sparkle of a thousand diamonds. Our headlights provided the
music—illuminating the brilliance. It
seemed appropriate. I’d plodded through a barren fall that culminated in
deep cleansing. The purity of the snow reminded me of all the Lord had
done in my heart. When I returned home I crawled into my blue recliner,
reached for my journal, and penned a new prayer. “I
pray I am like the snow—shinning and dancing as God pours His light of
truth into my life. I’m afraid it is more likely that I am shielding my
eyes and that my feet are heavy and plodding. I should dance! The master
of the universe is singling me out for this round!! He’s asking like the
old song, “Can I have this dance for the rest of your life?” I see Him in a gentlemanly fashion reaching his hand out to
me. One eyebrow is slightly raised in invitation. Will I join His dance?
Will I let Him lead? Will I truly give myself to His music—His timing,
rhythm, and beat—so that I can move as one with Him? I
want the light He shines into my life to illuminate me. I want others to
see the new sparkle He brings into me—I want it to glisten and bounce
right off of me onto the people I love and the people I am yet to love.” Oh
Father! That we may join you in the Light Dance—that we may float
effortlessly in Your arms, submitting gleefully to your will – sparkling
on the dance floor. “Giver
of life, creator of all that is lovely, Teach
me to dance to the sounds of your world Author
Unknown
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