3:23 x 3

The confluence of a lot of snot and a date with a plumber were enough to sink my plans this morning for a walk with a friend. I was disappointed that we wouldn't have time to catch up--it's been a while, and I always find time with her deeply encouraging. I probably should have been disappointed about missing the exercise--I haven't regularly been active since taking on teaching Spanish over three years ago. The closest I've come to running this winter is Temple Run 2.

Nutmeg woke up this morning quite soggy and complaining, "Nose! nose!" as if I couldn't see the problem. So when we got home from dropping Wombles off at his super fun class day, I went ahead and fed her early so that she could get back to bed...sleepy, sick (almost still a) baby. So she sat in her chair and I asked her for a music request.

Now, she had just been singing "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" to the best of her ability. So I don't think I can be blamed for trying to interpret her request along similar lines...but while her enunciation has taken great strides, she's still not all that clear. So I'm playing a game (which does not amuse her) trying to figure out what she's emphatically requesting. "by his might?...Jesus Christ?...might anoint?" No, no, more no.  And then... "Dynamite?"

"YEAH!" (really?) We were both so thrilled by our ability to communicate with one another that I had no problem stopping Season One and putting on Bud's birthday song.

She was in her chair. I was in my socks. And instead of unloading and reloading the dishwasher, I got down. As in, dancing getting down. After the first time through the song she asked for more. At which point I hit "repeat" and started pulling out old dance moves--junior high choreography and high school cheerleader routines. Moves I watched my dad do to this song when I was a little girl. Disco moves I picked up during college at the Georgia Theater (back when Late-Night Disco started at 2am). 

And while I was dancing (pas de bourrée, pas de bourrée), Nutmeg watched. And I wondered how on earth I remembered these moves. And the specific sequences of steps. And I was astonished that I also remembered where I was when I learned them, and what it felt like when I performed them. And I thought again of how we are embodied people and how in the psalms we are called upon to worship not only with gladness but with clapping and raised hands and dancing, too. And it is striking to me how potent a vehicle music and movement are for remembering, and how easy it is to forget: to forget God's goodness. To forget that the Holy Spirit is working even this very moment. To forget how my--our--union with Christ means not only that my sins have been paid for but that sin no longer is my master and that this body which was dead in sin has been raised to life--to do good, to seek justice, and to worship.

This January at church we had a series on Union with Christ--and I remember one evening in particular of earth-shattering, heart rending-and-mending truth. I remember it happening because I could hardly keep from weeping. I remember the physical sensation of the brightness of hope the way I can "feel" someone walk into a room even when I don't see them. But I can barely hold onto the specific words that were said.

Perhaps I need to dance to them.

After two rounds of "Dynamite," I got Nutmeg down and we danced together for the third time through. That little girl can boogie. Delighted wriggling, stomping and spinning and mimicking. Three minutes and twenty-three seconds of glee. After which we collapsed onto the couch and read books and snuggled for twice the balance of my dancing time, because I was out of breath and may have pulled something. I'm already sore. But it won't keep me from dancing again.


May you have the joy of the Lord's everlasting love; and may you be built up by him...and may you go forth in the dance of the merrymakers (from Jer 31:3-4). And may we all remember what He has done and is doing.


Happy Thursday,
H