Dancing and Singing

And so I stood there in the middle of the kitchen, hugging my four-and-a-half-month-old son over my left shoulder – sobbing like a baby.

It was early Thursday evening, and I was standard-frantic. Busy. Moving. But not panicing.

Meatball was content in his bouncy seat on the floor while I cut up bananas to freeze and rotated dishes out of and into the dishwasher. Mostly. He was content if I sang along with Bethel and danced around like an idiot.

Which, of course, I am generally more than happy to do if it makes him smile.

Bananas sliced and frozen, dishwasher running, we had maybe 15 minutes before we had to load ourselves in the minivan and head to grandma’s for dinner. I scooped him out of the chair, to squeals of delight, slid it under the table with my foot, and we danced and sang around our small kitchen.

I danced and sang because he’s happy with the worst dance moves and because I can sing these songs in my sleep – guitar solos and everything, which Husband especially loves. So I danced and sang, but part of me was in McHenry with my mom. Part of me was job-hunting with Husband. Parts of me were thinking about sermon illustrations and planning the vegetable garden and counting how many clean cloth diapers probably waited in the top drawer and how many hours I would have to do laundry when we got home. 

My mind raced through the checkbook and the calendar. My heart wrestled – still – with why I couldn’t hug my dad anymore. My eyes fell on my Bible – still waiting for me where I left it yesterday; the unfinished drywall – still waiting for me where I left it last week; and the mountain of clean laundry – still waiting for me to fold it.

“One more song, Lil’ Bit, and then we have to go.”

He squirmed and pounded on my shoulder with his tiny fist.

The next song started, and I recognized the intro, of course, but I wasn’t really thinking about it. When Jenn started to sing, I started to mindlessly sing along with her, but the words coming out of my mouth snapped me back into my body.

“God, I look to you. I won’t be overwhelmed. Give me vision, to see things like You do.”

Sobbing. Instantly. Seriously.

“God, I look to you. You’re where my help comes from. Give me wisdom. You know just what to do.”

I was suddenly very present in my kitchen. Squeezing and crying and trying to sing.

And then we hit the bridge.

“Hallelujah, our God reigns.”

And I choked.

Because it all came rushing back, and the idea that our God reigns wasn’t comforting – like it was supposed to be – it was challenging. Bills and deadlines and and messes all came screaming back at me, and all I could see was my dad with a ventilator tube in his mouth, and somewhere in the distance a voice was singing, “Hallelujah, our God reigns.”

And I knew I just had to decide.

So I danced and sang around our small kitchen.

—

So for anyone else – mamas, I’m lookin’ at you especially – who needs to sing, “I won’t be overwhelmed,” and “Our God reigns,” here you go. Sing it loud.