| Writing Non-Fiction posted November 18, 2016 |
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... a miracle ... and a true story
Dance in the camp ...
by TallySally
The problem is - I can’t. Dance, that is. Not a lick. Not a step. Not even dragging my feet. Not even standing on my father’s feet while he tried dragging my feet.
I bought videos of dance routines – leotards - full length mirror. Total bust. I was so bad! Even though no one was watching, I was too embarrassed to continue. I tried AM Studio lessons, but I held my breath every time the instructor took me in his arms and I nearly passed out. Seriously. Not only did I not breathe, I could not breathe.
It isn’t just that I’m a klutz. Or that I’m terminally rhythm-deprived. The music starts … my spirit soars … my body whispers ‘move’ and my feet take root to the floor. There’s a total disconnect of body and brain.
But the heart wants what the heart wants. And my heart wants to dance.
I can see it. Feel it. The rush of released joy! Movement … rising in spontaneous worship - expressing gratitude through grace – lifting praise through abandonment of self.
I want to dance. Okay – I want a miracle. It finally occurred to me to ask the man in charge at bed-time prayers. So I did. Nothing flowery – just an ‘oh, by the way, if You have time, I’d like to dance’ postscript to the really important stuff.
That night came the dream.
I stood at the edge of a desert encampment beneath a vast black sky riddled with countless stars. Tents and campfires stretched as far as I could see. People gathered in the firelight and children played in the shadows … and, beyond my seeing, faith testified there were countless others. The air was cool and spicy and shimmered with anticipation. Laughter and music wafted in – washed over, vibrating, like teasing waves.
And there was dancing! Everywhere!
Individuals danced! Intertwined rings of dancers moved fluidly to the songs they were singing. The camp was filled with whirling, joyful, celebration.
My spirit burst free. I dashed forward into the light, bounding, spinning, ricocheting off log-piles and camel saddles (and no broken bones!) … I wove about tents, leapt campfires, threaded through other dancers without collision! Smiling faces flashed past. Familiar voices shouted encouragement and called my name.
Then, as if speaking right beside me, I heard Jesus say in my heart, “Relda - It is good to be in the midst of the Camp of the Host!”
That’s a direct quote.
I awoke, crying, fought my way out of the covers, stumbled down the hall, and wrote all this down.
Truly a miracle.
I still can’t dance on this side of heaven. But I have a date with the Son of God. He’s invited me to the Camp of the Host, and He’s promised to teach me to dance!
The problem is - I can’t. Dance, that is. Not a lick. Not a step. Not even dragging my feet. Not even standing on my father’s feet while he tried dragging my feet.
I bought videos of dance routines – leotards - full length mirror. Total bust. I was so bad! Even though no one was watching, I was too embarrassed to continue. I tried AM Studio lessons, but I held my breath every time the instructor took me in his arms and I nearly passed out. Seriously. Not only did I not breathe, I could not breathe.
It isn’t just that I’m a klutz. Or that I’m terminally rhythm-deprived. The music starts … my spirit soars … my body whispers ‘move’ and my feet take root to the floor. There’s a total disconnect of body and brain.
But the heart wants what the heart wants. And my heart wants to dance.
I can see it. Feel it. The rush of released joy! Movement … rising in spontaneous worship - expressing gratitude through grace – lifting praise through abandonment of self.
I want to dance. Okay – I want a miracle. It finally occurred to me to ask the man in charge at bed-time prayers. So I did. Nothing flowery – just an ‘oh, by the way, if You have time, I’d like to dance’ postscript to the really important stuff.
That night came the dream.
I stood at the edge of a desert encampment beneath a vast black sky riddled with countless stars. Tents and campfires stretched as far as I could see. People gathered in the firelight and children played in the shadows … and, beyond my seeing, faith testified there were countless others. The air was cool and spicy and shimmered with anticipation. Laughter and music wafted in – washed over, vibrating, like teasing waves.
And there was dancing! Everywhere!
Individuals danced! Intertwined rings of dancers moved fluidly to the songs they were singing. The camp was filled with whirling, joyful, celebration.
My spirit burst free. I dashed forward into the light, bounding, spinning, ricocheting off log-piles and camel saddles (and no broken bones!) … I wove about tents, leapt campfires, threaded through other dancers without collision! Smiling faces flashed past. Familiar voices shouted encouragement and called my name.
Then, as if speaking right beside me, I heard Jesus say in my heart, “Relda - It is good to be in the midst of the Camp of the Host!”
That’s a direct quote.
I awoke, crying, fought my way out of the covers, stumbled down the hall, and wrote all this down.
Truly a miracle.
I still can’t dance on this side of heaven. But I have a date with the Son of God. He’s invited me to the Camp of the Host, and He’s promised to teach me to dance!
 Recognized |
God gave us the greatest gift of all time - His Son, Jesus. Jesus, The Gift, not only offered himself so we can have eternal life, He delights in blessing our dreams and 'gifting' us with the desires of our hearts.
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