My Prince

Him. I want to dance before. My Prince of Peace. My King. Dance. Like David, wearing a linen ephod, dancing and leaping as the Levites carried the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. Risked being misunderstood. Willing to be undignified. To be humiliated if necessary. All because he was compelled to celebrate what the Lord had done for him and for all of Israel. I want to dance like that. Maybe not quite as vigorously as King David, but with the same kind of humility. The same celebration. The same heart. I want to dance. Hands lifted. Soft stance and slow. Swaying. His Word and my words of praise and thanksgiving. Interwoven. Creating the cadence for our waltz. Son of Man. Man of Sorrows. Took my pain, my heartache. Did not know sin. Until He took mine. Gave His life for me. So that He could then give life to me. Eternal. Abundant. With Him--always. I must dance. Love is the reason. His for me. My heart says of Him, "Seek His face. Your face, Lord, I will seek." Lover of my soul. I will not neglect Your word. I will not reject Your word. I hide Your words in my heart. They are life and breath to me. And healing. And forgiveness. I dance. My Bridegroom comes. With a double-edged sword. And bearing a name that He alone knows. Having purchased boys, girls, men, and women from every nation, every tribe, every language. The Faithful Witness. Lamb of God. Lamb who was slain. The One who has overcome. Alpha. Omega. Jesus Christ, God's only Son. For Him, I dance. Sweet Dreams, Deb