My relationship with has gotten progressively more physical in the last year.
I didn’t even notice it at first; it started so small. A baby step to the left here. A half-raised hand there.
I chalked it up to the Adventures culture. People get charismatic and prophetic up in here. People get a little Spirit-drunk up in here. People get a little crazy.
At my Training Camp–and many times thereafter–I found myself on my knees or flat on my face. Usually, I was utterly unable to stand.
In Thailand, the LORD and I started dancing. (You can read about that here.)
It’s something I’ve done ever since, a jumbled mess of long abandoned ballet steps, swing moves and salsa with far less sex-appeal than I’d like it to have. Sometimes I leap across the room in joy. Sometimes I spin until falling over. Sometimes, I just stop and sing.
But I never, ever, under any circumstances, dance with Jesus in public.
It was a small group of six who showed up to worship at the Lucases house. Sheila and Cameron explained that they had very little planned, and instead, we would press PLAY on Sheila’s iPod and let the Spirit move.
For the first hour, I scribbled furiously in my journal, writing prayers I’d never dared to breathe before. But He asked if I trusted Him to give me the desires of my heart. And when I said a hesitant, but hopeful “Yes,” He asked me to tell Him what they were.
So I gave Jesus an emotional Christmas List of “good gifts”. And I firmly believe that because I asked, I’ll receive.
When I heard the music again, I danced in the hallway. I didn’t worry about who could see me, because it wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for me. It was to be touched and held by my Love, cradled against His chest and twirled by the tips of my fingers, hair spinning in a fan behind me.
I danced as gracefully as I was able and dared the Devil to try to cut it. My Love wouldn’t let him. He whispered things like,
“I sought you until you found me, my fair one.”
I realized that in this gentleness, He was showing me how I long to be romanced. He was taking the first dance on my dance card and teaching me the steps to love, to real desire, to submission (which is the highest form of trust). He was teaching me this dance of falling in love.
And even though the song has faded, His promise lingers on the palms of my hands and the hollow of my throat and the small of my back. It is not so much tattooed as perfumed on me, annointed on me.
And in my heart, this morning, we are still dancing.