The dance with God is a dance with the invisible. It’s like I’m up in my room, house empty but for the dog, and I’m folding towels. The giant trees out below my window along greenbelt are heavy under the weight of rain that won’t slow. I hear it strong on the roof above me, and against the windowpane. The giant mound of laundry. The relentless rain. The bowing trees. And I sting to the bone with the goodness of God. There between the bed and the bookcase, me and the white towel, we dance. We dance with God. It’s a celebration of all that is. And I know He is. I’m alive with God, celebrating the gift of the laundry, the rain, the bowing trees – the song playing in my veins.
God and I could be different.
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