Friday, February 3, 2012

The Dance

I'm sitting in a garden, and I am wearing a red vintage dress, pearls, white gloves, and my hair is in a beautiful up-do with makeup suitable for a ball (in my mind resembling the enchanting Audrey Hepburn). I am sitting at an outdoor breakfast nook, and across from me is Jesus. Strong, inviting, handsome; he is everything I ever hoped He would be and more. We are enjoying each others presence, mostly in silence, because those are some of our most precious times together. He knows what I am feeling. We are drinking cold milk from fine china and enjoying freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The garden is lovely.
But our direction is not faced towards each other, rather side by side, scoping the horizon. For on the other side of the garden lies a vast expansive field. I can see movement in the distance of a girl in a white dress. She is dancing.
The peculiar thing about this girl is that though the atmosphere around her is in constant changing motion, her motions remain unaltared.
The sun rise kisses the earth, embracing the girl with the light of day. But almost as if caught in a time lapse of the impending seasons, she is greeted with every variation of atmosphere beneath the horizon. Piercing rain and stark lightning slice the sky, swiftly transitioning to a cold, blistering wind violently sweeping across the field. I quickly look to the girls face, who to my utter disbelief, has remained wholly untainted by the weather changes. In fact, as the death of winter sweeps over and the new life of spring emerges, she opens her eyes for only a moment to pick a freshly bloomed dandelion, smell it, and continue her dance without missing a step of her inimitably choreographed performance.

I stretched to take a closer glance at this girl, astounded by her grace and perseverance, only to be welcomed by an all too familiar face. That girl was me. And I was watching her on the other side of eternity. 
I looked beside me to see Jesus with a huge grin on his face. His eyes were closed and hands out, as if He was leading someone in a waltz of some sort. 
It was me He was dancing with.
The reason I had gone forth unfazed by life's storms was because I held the assurance that I had not been dancing alone.
In fact, not a second had gone by: rain, snow, sunshine, wind, that I had ever danced alone.

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