They danced, and God was with us.

They danced.


Julia inserted the Celtic cd, cranked the stereo knob, then held out her hand.  Twice Sam's size and twice his age, she grasped his hands with sincere intensity.  He measured her intent, then mustered his shirtless, skinny shoulders, and flung himself into the rhythm with abandon.

They twirled, they leapt, she lifted him onto the coffee table then flew him into another round.  Fingers touched, she bent backwards and he strained as high as he could, as she spun and spun and spun.  They paused only long enough for her to race up the stairs to fly into a red and green plaid twirly skirt.  The cd was re-started, and the dance began again.

Other brothers could not hold back the dance.  The seven year old danced with the three year old.  Josiah lifted Ben, and danced him from sofa to coffee table to carpet.  It was a beautiful, wild, joyful rumpus.

I lay on the couch, exhausted from the day.  My littlest dancer grabbed her ever present blankie and crawled up to be with me.  The others begged her to dance with them, bending down for her sweet kisses.  "Come and dance with me, Mae Mae!"

She kissed them back, but said, "No.  I holding mama."  Then she threw her ratty blanket over my shoulder so that it covered us both, kissed me tenderly, flashed me her dimpliest grin, and settled her kitten-soft hair into my chin.  We watched the joy as it consumed the room, smiled at the fulness this shabby old house contained.

The children forgot their January crankiness and their petty arguments that seem to have no end.  They wrapped fingers together, threw back heads, and kicked up heels.  Joy came, love won, and holiness happened.  God dwells here, in all the mess, and glory, and trials and beauty of a family.  He sat in the room and smiled with us, washed away the acrid scent of all dissent and lifted our tired hearts.  Emmanuel - God with us.