Dancing
Tears and laughter reign. Mamma is here; so is Dad. The youth pastor who argued with me for months when I doubted had whispered, “I told you so,” as he hugged me. Best of all, the music is unbelievable. It is audible, of course, but it’s more than that. It echoes and vibrates through my heart and soul, making it seem as if my spirit was part of the music. I’ve always loved music, and spent my life either making it or dancing to it. I don’t think my smile can get any larger.
Then I see Him. He starts on the outskirts of the crowd, slowly making His way to me. Though there is no aura about Him, no light coming from Him, I would know Him anywhere. He has lived in my heart for years. The crowd parts like the Red Sea as He walks forward, His eyes not moving from mine. I haven’t moved since I first saw Him. Everyone else backs away, leaving us to meet alone.
One tear runs down my cheek as I kneel. I would probably fall on my face if I could stop looking at Him.
He stops about six feet away and says, “Come here, little one.”
As I stand and go to Him, I notice the music is getting louder. It’s the most beautiful music I’ve ever even imagined.
He says in my heart, I love music, too, child. It’s a beautiful waltz, one that I haven’t heard before. He looks up, and the music stops, then starts again at the beginning.
His gaze returns to me, and I try to speak. “Lord, I . . .” But His finger on my lips stops the words.
“Dance with Me.” He whispers.
Really? my heart asks.
He bows slightly. I automatically return the gesture, sinking into a curtsy. As I stand again, my head tilts a little, a questioning look on my face.
He takes my left hand and places it on His shoulder; then takes my right hand in His. The first thing that comes to my mind is, God waltzes? But we dance.
I love to dance, but this is not what I expected from the Son of God. My eyes are fixed to His, and He smiles as He whirls me around to the music.
When the music stops, He pulls me further into His arms, and kisses the top of my head. It had never occurred to me, this type of interaction with my King, but if it had, it would have been my greatest wish.
“Lord Jesus.” I whisper. “I didn’t know You liked to dance.”
“I gave you a dream about dancing, remember?” He asks.
He pulls me back into His arms, and suddenly, I’m in that dream again, and we are dancing on the stormy sea of Galilee to the music of the storm. It seemed at the time to be such a silly dream, but “silly” is nowhere in my mind right now. Joy, yes. But not silly. We are both getting soaked, and He has a thick strand of hair falling into His face. He starts laughing, and I join in, more joyful than I ever imagined being.
“You do like to have fun, Lord. I was hoping. . .”
“Of course I do, child.”
As we come to a stop, I remember the rest of the dream – the silliest part. “After all,” my mind had concluded at the time, “we are His children.”
Do you dare? I look up at Him, and He is smiling, daring me to continue with the dream.
I smile, take a step back, and whisper, “Catch me if You can.” and run off across the waves.
I run about 20 yards, and slow down, turning and jogging backwards so I can see His reaction. He’s thrown His head back, laughing out loud.
Then, to my surprise, He gets a determined look on His face, and actually comes after me. I turn and run, laughing myself, and I wonder how this will end, as this is where the dream stopped.
I glance back again, and He’s getting closer.
As I turn back forward, He’s suddenly there in front of me. I run into Him, and He reaches out and grabs me.
“That wasn’t in the dream,” I whisper.
He laughs, and pulls me tightly into His arms. He says quietly, “Eternity is going to be nothing like you imagined.”