SS - Three Gifts

from "We Three Kings" - Michael W. Smith

Three campers sat beside a dwindling beach fire. Above them, stars spun. Beside them, ocean waves roiled and spit foam. The sand beneath them was cold but powdery soft.

“They will come soon,” said the bearded one. He ran a grimy hand through his hair and leaned back into the heavy bundle behind him.

“You’ve said that every night for fourteen nights, Japhus.” The smallest one traced characters in the sand - HOPE more than any other. Starlight and firelight flickered in her bright eyes.

“And every night it is more true, not less.”

The third one did not speak but drew the bow across her violin twice slowly.

“I’m ready for them to come now,” whispered the bright-eyed one. Grains of sand ran through her fingers. She shook them off. From beneath her short cloak, she took a pulsing whorl of colours.
For a moment all three were blinded before the maelstrom subsided to match the glow of the embers and stars.

“My heart,” she said, “undivided for the true King and Queen, forever may they reign.”

The violin sang Glory.

“Beautiful,” said Japhus. He shook his head, “ah, but you are stronger than me, little Taes.”

Taes smiled. A sparkling ray of light shimmered from the orb to dance over Japhus’s head before vanishing. “Thank you.” She tucked her precious gift in the hollow of her lap.

Vyz the violinist set down her regular bow and picked up a different one. The music she began to play now reverberated through the two who listened. Melancholy yet joyful, it plunged through several different tempos and themes. Vyz danced as she played, sand flying up from her feet to land like glitter on the arms and faces of Japhus and Taes. The music wrapped around them like invisible gossamer, present but untouchable. A whisper of chiffon. An impression of lace.

Around Vyz the music became visible as well as tangible. It took the form of a veil, black as the night on first glance but composed of every colour imaginable when one focused in on individual threads. It wound around her but didn’t inhibit her movement at all, a dancing veil that moved in perfect synchrony with her.

Dizzy, Taes covered her eyes but the music filled her soul and the brilliant image remained clear in her eyes.

Japhus opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He watched the music, mouth agape, wanting to laugh and cry but unable to break the wonder that held him enchanted.

At last, Vyz came to an end. The final chord spiralled over the sea and fell into the spray. The veil dropped against her skin and was still. This was Vyz’s gift: her very soul.

Silence suffused the three who waited until Japhus spoke, “the last is the least but I hope my King and Queen will not be disappointed.” From the side of his pack, he unstrapped a fine leather sheath narrow but long. “Since I was a boy I have tempered this metal. I have laid it in the fire of doubt and worked it with the hammer of logic.” He withdrew the sword until a coppery-brightness showed just beneath the well worn handle.

“Your mind!” Taes exclaimed. “Oh, but it is a great gift.”

Vyz did not speak but nodded solemnly.

Japhus blushed. “Thank you.”

Gifts bared and ready, the trio waited.

A Story of Dance (part IV)

For a full song, my new Aussie friend dances over me with her shimmering fabric. I rest and rejoice and heal, delighting in His delight over me. When the song comes to an end and the next starts, I dance again on my knees. Behind me, she follows my lead and we worship together.

I have not danced worship WITH another dancer since the end of [dance team] over four years ago. Somehow, even though we are strangers to each other, without any rehearsal or speech between us, we move in beautiful synchronization. I am leading but, at times, I follow her movements. We dance, not as a person and a shadow with one doing exactly as the other, but as two hands might, moving separately from each other but always in complement.

I'm not really sure whether our dance is a gift from us to Him or from Him to us.

Maybe it is both. . .

A Story of Dance (part I)

This is a story, a testimony, a revelation of dance but it is also a beautiful demonstration of God's mercy and grace. On June 1^st, during a Sunday morning church service, He asked me to dance with Him. I buried my face in my hands and I cried because I wouldn't.

 

To give you a better understanding of what happened, I will give you some background. God has given me dance as a gift. I first began to grow in this gift through the Jesus Dance School and a dance ministry during my teen years. I discovered how dance could be a form of intercession but my deepest passion at the time was worship dancing with the church. My experiences over the short life of the dance ministry have impacted me greatly. In time, the ministry died. It happened slowly as members in the church (I never knew who) prompted the dancing to move away from the front to the sides, then to the back.

It was never said directly to me but I was left with the strong impression that dancing was a distraction during worship, that this gift was negatively impacting people and drawing them away from God rather than to Him.

I remember very well the last worship dance practice. I felt that strange peace that surpasses all understanding when the dance leader told us that it was ending. I knelt before God during the dancing and told Him that the gift was His. If I ever danced again, it was to be His choice.

 

That summer, I went with a dance/drama team to perform on the streets during the Olympics in Athens, Greece (which is another strange and beautiful story). God opening up this opportunity for me to dance spoke to me that He would resurrect the gift in His time.

For the next three years, I hardly danced. And often when I did in worship, it felt awkward, out of step, very different from what I had experienced in the dance ministry team.

 

In the fall of 2007, God brought dance to life again. I spent every night during the month of October in intercessory dance, learning from Him. It was profoundly freeing and humbling. But with this re-birth came a terrible ache. A painful longing for something more that still needed to be born and soon a wrenching realization that I had wounds that needed healing.

I heard from many around this time about their own gifting of dance and what God had taught them. It was encouraging and exhilarating but a woman I respect and cherish spoke against dancing. And her words ripped open wounds I hadn't know existed.

And it was good, because God began to heal these wounds.

 

(to be continued)