by Delia Latham
A bevy of good-natured groans and moans followed her instructions, but the kids filed into the pews. The girls took the front, and the boys claimed the second row. Summer hid a grin. Before long, they’d discover that male and female made little difference in a praise dance, and that they’d have to dance as a team to make it work.
Praise teams weren’t about solo performances. They were about a collective lifting of worshipful hearts in sincere adulation to the Redeemer, the Creator, the Holy One of Israel. When the dance became about the performer and the performance, the element of praise was lost…along with the essential anointing that made praise dancing such a powerful force in a worship service.
With her small group of students now quiet and focused on her, Summer’s tummy set up a fluttering worthy of an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies. She swallowed hard, lifted a desperate prayer for boldness and strength, forced a welcoming smile and stayed put, when everything in her wanted to dash out the side door.
These teens, without home or family, depended on Chrysalis for food, warmth, clothing…even a place to rest their heads. If they wanted to dance before God in praise, even while existing under those bereft circumstances, then surely she could find the courage to teach them.
“OK, everyone. We all know why we’re here, right? To learn to worship, through dancing, as a team.” She grinned and clasped her hands together to still their trembling. “But before we start learning dance moves, there’s something very important that you all need to be aware of.” She waited for the groans of resignation, but none were forthcoming. “First of all, this is not dancing as you probably have understood it up until now. It’s worship. Can anyone tell me what that means?”
Again, no response from her audience.
She bit back a sigh. “Well, then, we’ll start with a definition. I’ll use Webster’s, because I love the way he phrased it.” She read from an index card of notes. “Worship means to honor with extravagant love and extreme submission. Isn’t that beautiful?”
Blank stares.
This time she did sigh. “All right. Let’s break it down. Extravagant love. What does extravagant mean?”
Finally, one of the girls raised a hand, barely high enough to be seen.
“Julie?”
“Um…wasteful?”
The rest of the group tittered, but Summer nodded.
“That’s exactly right. It means spending more than is necessary, or even wise—so yes, wasteful. It also means exceeding the bounds of reason, or going beyond what is deserved or justified. Where worship of God is concerned, we can never give Him more than is deserved, because He’s worthy of more than we’re even capable of giving. But you understand that extravagance basically means going overboard, right?”
A few heads nodded up and down.
That was the best she’d get for the moment. “Good. So we know what extravagant means. What about submission? Anyone?”
One of the boys stuck a finger in the air. “Submitting to someone.”
“Well, yes, but what does that mean?”
“Giving them their own, stinkin’ way.”
The group snickered, and Summer laughed along.
“Exactly, Ian! Yielding to the power or authority of someone or something outside of one’s self. Giving them their own way. That’s submission. So let’s go back to the definition of worship, which is: to honor with extravagant love and extreme submission. Worshipping God, then, means to honor Him with love that is beyond reason and justification—at least to the human psyche—and extreme submission of our bodies. In other words, letting Him have His own way with us, yielding our bodies completely to Him to use as He sees fit.”
A young man with jet-black hair and gray eyes that were bound to stop a few female hearts before too long stuck a fist in the air. “I don’t get it. I mean, all this garbage doesn’t have a thing to do with dancing. I thought we were here to dance.”
“We are, Kyle, but it’s more than a dance. It’s worship…giving ourselves over—heart, soul, and body—to God. It means going overboard in praise, in letting Him know that we absolutely, completely, totally adore Him…that we find Him wonderful beyond anything else in this world or any other, that we love Him above anyone or anything. Praise dancing is offering Christ, through the movements of our bodies, our utmost reverence and honor and adoration.”
“Miss Summer?” Reta’s hand went up at the same time she raised a quavery voice. “Why worship?”
“Why—? Oh!” Why hadn’t she thought to explain the why of worship? She gave the girl a warm smile. “I’m glad you asked, Reta. We worship God because He is God. It’s that simple. He loved us first, so we love Him for loving us. It’s only right to praise and thank our Creator for not only creating us, but for loving us, for watching over us, and for all He’s done for us.” Summer’s trembling had stopped as she spoke about a subject for which she felt so much passion. She took time to lock gazes with each teenager in the two rows of pews.
“I want you all to understand, without any question, that praise dancing isn’t about you. It isn’t about me. It isn’t about making an audience admire your dance moves and techniques. It is all about Jesus Christ. Honoring Him. When praise dancing becomes just a program, or a performance, it’s stripped of meaning and is no longer praise. All the power of the dance is erased. If it isn’t a praise, then it’s just a show, and in a house of worship—a church, like this one in which we’re meeting right now—there’s no place for showcasing.”
She drew a deep breath, amazed at her wordiness. Had she ever before made such a lengthy speech? “Besides, God loves us all exactly the same. We’re all His favorites. There’s no need for trying to outdo one another, no need for jealousy when one appears to be more graceful, more talented, more physically attractive than others…love never makes comparisons, and there’s room in God’s heart for all of us.” In a blazing moment of clarity, the breath left her body, and she gripped the podium, shook to the core by the revelation. Logan! What had she done?
Love never compared—not her beauty to Deah’s, not her delicate curves to her cousin’s voluptuous ones. Nothing. Logan loved her. Summer Callihan.
And she’d thrown that treasured love in his face with her unreasonable, thoughtless jealousy and lack of faith—faith in him and in the love he offered her.
As soon as she could get away from here, she had to find him. She had to apologize for not giving him the credit he deserved as a God-fearing man with a gentle, kind soul so incredibly full of love. Had she ruined any chance they might have had for a future together? No, he had never said the words, but Summer knew in her heart that he loved her. He showed it in a thousand ways.
For now, though, she had a job to do, and these teens deserved her undivided attention. She drew a deep breath and focused on the job at hand. “What I’m saying is this. I love that you’re here, and that you want to learn to praise God in dance. But you must enter into this thing knowing that what we’ll be doing is an act of praise and worship. If your purpose is anything else…” Pausing, she prayed her words wouldn’t be too harsh or hold too sharp a sting. “Please, find another way to work off energy. I’m very serious about the nature of this type of dance. But if you’re ready to submit yourselves to God in praise and worship, and then go out and reflect Him in the lives you live, stay with me. We’ll have a wonderful time together.”
One girl rolled her eyes, heaved off the pew as if she weighed half a ton and sauntered out the back door. Close on her heels, a young man with multiple piercings and an impressive tattoo collection executed a few interesting dance moves of his own as he made his way down the aisle and out the door.
Summer’s heart ached for them—they were both so…lost—but she was thrilled to be left with five teens who wanted to worship God. She had a feeling that, if she’d asked Raine about it, she’d find the five kids still with her had been longer at Chrysalis, thereby absorbing more of the godly love surrounding them, and more teaching of the Word.
“All right, looks like we have a team. Are you ready to get to work?”
Shouts and hoots erupted from the small group, and Summer grinned. “Come on then. Join me up here. We’ve got dance steps to learn.”
****
Logan stood in the atrium, just outside the sanctuary, keeping himself out of sight as he peered around the door frame to watch Summer with the kids. She was clearly in her element, discussing praise and illustrating specific moves, which she explained as she demonstrated.
Executing a graceful bow, her body moved with fluid grace that sent tendrils of warmth through Logan—body and soul.
“In the Bible, the bowing position indicated reverence, usually for the Lord, but sometimes for a king or pharaoh. Of course, we bow only to God, and it is scriptural to do so.”
How could she keep speaking, her voice smooth and unstrained, even as she moved with such incredible grace and beauty?
“Psalm 95:6 says, ‘Come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our maker.’”
She allowed her body to droop forward as if every bone had melted. Her nose almost touched her knees, portraying an attitude of complete surrender.
“Bowing can be a bending forward, like this.” She raised up, and then dropped to one knee in a smooth slide. “Or just bending one or both knees.” She stood upright, and just when Logan thought she’d move on, she lunged forward, prostrating herself face down on the floor.
Watching from the back of the church, he gasped. God, she’s so beautiful! Please…please don’t ask me to give her up.
As she rolled over and stood, Summer grinned. “That’s a bow too. Lying flat on your face before the Lord usually indicates complete surrender or extreme supplication.”
“Huh?” One of the boys made a face. “What’s that?”
Summer’s soft laughter soothed Logan’s sudden tension, and he relaxed against the wall, eyes closed, letting it wash over him in gentle waves.
“Supplication is asking for something—begging, I guess—earnestly and in deep humility.” A hand went up and Summer laughed. “Humility means with humbleness, or a lack of pride, which is how we should always approach God. After all, what does a mere human have to be exalted about in comparison to His mightiness and glory?”
The kids were really into the dance.
Logan grinned when they tried to duplicate Summer’s deep bow, and a couple of them nearly fell forward. He had a feeling they were about to find out that this form of worship required hard work and determination to get it right—not to mention sore, strained muscles and limbs.
“You’re all doing really well!” Summer clapped for them and then drew a deep breath. “This next move is far easier, and yet it holds every bit as much meaning.” She stepped backward, closed her eyes, and raised both hands in the air in a graceful arc. The fingertips of each hand almost met above her head.
“This is another scriptural move, from Psalm 134:2. ‘Lift up your hands in the sanctuary, and bless the Lord.’ Raising your hands is a clear indication of praising God, lifting Him high in honor and glory. It also reflects an attitude of submission or surrender.”
She lowered her hands—slowly and with intentional grace. No clumsy “dropping” of the arms, but a purposeful downward flutter. Then she raised them again in several different movements and motions—lifting both arms upward in an arc from one side and then the other of her body, raising them straight above her head in a punch-like maneuver that somehow bespoke power in Logan’s mind, and curving both arms all the way up above her head. Then she managed to include a couple more examples.
How had he never realized raising his arms in praise could be done in so many different ways?
Summer nodded, watching the kids mimic her moves. She stepped forward to gently change the position of a couple of their arms, patting shoulders and smiling in encouragement as she did so. After a moment, she clapped her hands to gain their attention. “We’ll be doing those first two moves a lot, but I want to fit in a couple more before we call it a day. Let’s talk about one of my favorites. It’s called turning, and the reason I love it so much is that it indicates change. Turning always depicts change of some kind, even if only in direction—and that’s part of worship. Allowing God to change us, to make us into something better, something He can use.
“Besides…” She grinned, showing the kids an impish side of her personality, one Logan loved, even though it didn’t often come out to play. “It’s pretty. When we turn while dancing, the movement displaces air, and the resulting burst of wind billows beneath our robes, dresses or skirts, and it looks nice. But the important thing to remember is that even the beauty of the ruffles and waves in the fabric—brought about by a turning of the air—are indicators of change. Every move, every result of our moves while we dance, has meaning.”
“Is there a scripture for that one?”
The question came from a girl Logan remembered from his earlier visit to Chrysalis with Summer. An R name. Rhonda? No. He chewed at one name after another. Robin. Ruby. Raven. It was something simple. Reba? No, Reta. That was it. The girl that had taken such a hold on Summer’s heart—in fact, she was the reason Summer accepted Raine’s request to conduct a praise dancing class. He grinned, all alone in the atrium, glad he’d come up with the right name without having to ask. Summer would be proud of him.
“Yes, there is a scripture for turning. Thank you for reminding me. I like the Living Bible’s version of Psalm 30:11 for this one. It says, ‘Then he turned my sorrow into joy! He took away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy.’ Oh, and let me read you another one. I can’t remember the words exactly, but I wrote them down.” She dashed behind the podium and sorted through several index cards, smiling when she found the right one. “Here it is, also from the Living Bible, Acts 3:19. ‘Now change your mind and attitude to God and turn to him so he can cleanse away your sins and send you wonderful times of refreshment from the presence of the Lord.’ Isn’t that a beautiful incentive to praise God?”
Logan tore his gaze from Summer’s face to check out the kids’ reactions. Whether they fully understood or not, they all nodded, their gazes fixed on Summer as if she’d just descended from Heaven on a fluffy cloud in a puff of feathery wings.
He got it. Completely.
“OK, just one more for today, everyone. Leaping. This move is an indication of joy and celebration. Think about children…when they’re happy, what do they do? They jump up and down. They skip. They gallop around like little ponies. All of those things are variations of a leap, and they all denote rejoicing.”
“And the scripture?” This time it was one of the boys who asked.
Logan was touched that the kids were interested in the biblical basis for what they were doing.
“Psalm 28:7.” Summer’s response was quick. “‘My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him.’”
“A lot of the scriptures you used are from Psalms,” someone said.
“I’m glad you noticed.” Summer grinned. “King David wrote a lot of that book, and he was famous for dancing in praise to God. Who better to learn from?” She quickly led the kids through a series of leaps and then—after seeing that they put away all the tools they’d used—she shooed them out of the sanctuary.
Logan waited until, alone on the platform, Summer picked up her purse and cast one last glance around the church, making sure everything was in place.
He stepped into the doorway, in full sight, when she started up the aisle toward the back of the church.
“Oh!” She stopped when she saw him. “Logan. What…why are you here?”
“For you.” He offered her his arm as she drew abreast of him. “Come on a little drive with me?”
18
They drove past the edge of town, out toward the lodge.
Summer assumed they were going there, but Logan passed by the entrance to Paradise Pines and kept driving.
He sure wasn’t saying much.
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br /> “Uh, Logan…” She owed him an apology. Now was as good a time as any. “About last night.”
“Not yet.”
He shot her a tight smile, and then returned his attention to the road.
Summer bit at her lip. What was he up to?
Not far past the lodge entrance, he turned onto a narrow, rutted dirt road.
“This might be a little rough, but we won’t be on it very long.”
She grabbed hold of the hand-grip above the door and held on, saying nothing. Logan clearly wasn’t ready to talk yet, and she wouldn’t press him.
A quarter mile or so down the road, he pulled the car over and turned off the engine. After opening her door, he took her hand and led her through the woods.
“Where are we going?” The sweet hush within the forest seemed to induce quiet. She’d spoken in a whisper without any intention of doing so.
“Just ahead.” Logan replied in the same soft tone and pushed on through the trees. Finally, he stopped and put a finger to his lips. Then he dropped to his knees and peered between the trunks of two tall pines that grew so close together they almost appeared to be one. He beckoned Summer closer.
She knelt next to him, followed the direction of his pointing finger, and gasped.
Beyond the trees, a clearing. In the clearing, a young fawn and a doe. Freckle and his mother. The doe sat on the ground, watching the fawn gambol about the grassy opening between the trees. But her ears, twitching every few seconds and pointing at the treetops, bore evidence of her alert attitude. Even in her current casual pose, she listened for danger.
“Freckle!” Summer breathed. Her eyes stung as she watched the fawn chase after first a butterfly and then a squirrel that disappeared into the trees on the other side of the small glade. “I’m so relieved to know he’s with his mother.”
Logan leaned close to speak against her ear. “Are you sure it’s him? This could be any fawn. They all look alike, don’t they?”
She frowned. “No. Well…I guess.” She huffed out a breath and laid one hand on her chest. “I just know. My heart knows. It’s Freckle.”
