The first occurrence of dance in Scriptures reveals the primacy of joyful worship. The bondage of Egypt was broken and Miriam initiated the expression of affective gratitude with tambourine and song.
Dance, like any other human mien, reveals a brewing mood.
During my recent birthday celebration, energetic youngsters shared a riveting number. Their moves flung with joie de vivre. While watching, I felt my own joints replicating the breaks. One thing quite conspicuous was their preference to cover their eyes to style their gig. They looked awesome but it somehow registered what I perceived was reflective of my own secret dance.
I groove metaphorically. How can I not express my daily gratitude for the consistency of God's blessing in my life. But then, my sway is somehow covert.
One Sunday, right after church, I took my family to a Vietnamese Bistro. I noticed a young couple chatting while waiting for their food. I reckoned from their looks that they are actors: tattooed and with outlandish garb. My myopic bias stapled a label: with a crop of hair like those, they are dope-regular.
When food was served, I was put to shame by their witness. He held her hand while praying loud to Jesus with sustained thanksgiving for close to a minute.
I was challenged to take off my blinders when I declare thanks. Indeed, in all things I must bless the Lord of Dance without veil.
I just did that yesterday at a Muslim-run Dimassi's grill. I felt the stare of people while I popped my inner soul with glee for an extended mixx of praise.