“Good job,” I say. “Let’s look at the next one.”
My son, Gabriel, 10, and I are at the dining room table working division problems with decimals. The day has grown tired–dusky gray colors the windows. I’m tired too. December is sweet and full but part of me wishes that rather than the upcoming evening hustle we could just stay at home. Unrushed. Still.
There’s a CD on the stereo–Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” I sway a little in my seat and Gabe bites his lip, looks to the ceiling, and writes a number above the division bar. Then he looks at me and smiles. “Want to dance?” he asks.
I smile back, but I glance at my phone for the time. Half an hour to finish math. Then dinner. Then we’re out the door.
“C’mon,” he says. His wide, green eyes sparkle childhood, and I’m touched because Gabe is one of my more reserved boys and an invitation is a treasured thing.
We push our chairs back and move to the worn rug in the living room. The CD changes, and now it’s a contemporary artist. The sound is soulful. Gabe takes my hands and in growing-boy assertiveness, leads. His hand is warm in mine and when he looks up, too-long blond hair falling from his angel face, I’m lost.
I’ve danced here a hundred times. With my husband when the boys are asleep. With a newborn on my shoulder, downy-dark hair soft under my fingers. With toddlers perched my feet and with anxious boys before high school dances.
Now Gabriel and I dance and laugh, and as we go around I can see my reflection in the mirror above the mantle. God has brought a smile. It’s big and wide and shining from my soul. My son and I are wearing flannel shirts and thick wool socks because this century-and-a-half old home has gone winter-cold, but I’m warmed, spirit-deep, by what’s happening inside.
The pressure and worry and clock disappear and gratitude overflows. I am grateful for the blessings the Lord has brought, past and present. For the fullness of this life and for the blessings that I’m often too busy to see.
Gratitude is worship, and there is worship in the dance.
And David danced before the Lord with all his might and was wearing a priests’ clothing. (2 Samuel 6:14, TLB)
When the song is over, we fall on the sofa. He snuggles close, and I wrap my arm around this sweet, quiet boy. We can’t sit for long–there are still places to go and things to do.
But I’ll go about them with a full and refreshed heart.
Lord, even in the busiest times, let me worship You. Amen.
