We spend a little bit of time each day dancing.  And I don’t dance.  But I think more than anything, that was just a label I stuck on myself so many years ago that it has become part of me now… the glue so old and yellowed that it is hard to tell where the label edges are.  And me, a little afraid to pull off that old, brittle label for fear of not knowing what is underneath.  But she frees me.  We play worship music loud and she swirls and twirls in the living room with her hands lifted above her head.  I do too.  We giggle.  We shriek.  And occasionally she topples over into the couch.

May she always be so free.  So full-of-joy joyful.   May the labels of “I’m not…” or “I can’t…” or “I don’t…” never find a way to stick on her soul.  And though I know that may be too lofty of a wish, may I never be the one to put them there.

2 thoughts on “Dancing

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