As we called out each other’s strengths and affirmed how we were seeing God move in our lives, I paced. Back and forth. One room to the next.
Tired of aimless zig zagging, I stopped dead centre of my living room. Two beats later, my feet were moving, mimicking the motions of my childhood. I didn’t realize at first. But as we wrapped up conversation, my tondues and arabesques were in full swing.
I hung up the phone.
The lyrics of a worship song echoed in my mind. I searched for it.
Google. Lyrics. Aha. There it was.
Clicking it on it, the chorus of my heart began to fill the space.
There’s something about music that stirs my inner recesses. I can connect with emotions I haven’t yet recognized and give breath to my souls deepest state.
Turning from the screen, I whipped around and without a moments hesitation, flung my body into movement.
Like a mind of it’s own, I began to dance and move like I hadn’t in years. I wasn’t thinking, I wasn’t controlling, I wasn’t trying… I was simply being.
As movement surged my bones like electricty, by body came to life – like a tree parched and drinking in summers first rain fall.
I could feel it. The joy I used to know. The unbridled being I came to crave upon a stage.
The music stilled and silence entered, but joy had filled my veins still pumping.
When I began to dig up my past and lay the pain I’d buried at his feet, I had no expectation, just hope for healing – a burden lifted and peace to usher in his easy yoke.
But what came first was an awaking in response to the ways in which I’ve counted – all the ways he’s loved and give grace upon grace each day; As I’ve taken the manna for today, he’s re-birthed parts of me I thought I’d lost- rekindled part of my innocence that glimmered of his glory.
I’ve always known art was an expression of my soul, but today I saw it even clearer. Art is worship, when unconstrained and free to flourish.
In it’s nature state, uncontrolled and simply created, I am one with my soul’s expression – a reflection of the one who created me.
He in me. I in Him.
I can feel his pure delight.
So let me surrender to this feeling, the movement that surges my bones. Not for it’s merit, not for it’s beauty, but simply for it’s vulnerable worship.
Real. Authentic. Pure.