The gentle strains of a waltz fill the room as they approach the dancefloor. His frame towers over hers, more than double her size. Instead of intimidating, it's a comforting guide through the unknown steps of the dance. He gently takes the diminutive beauty's hands and guides her patent shoe clad feet onto the top of his, riding.
The once intimidating, crowded dancefloor changes from her new vantagepoint. Riding on his feet her steps are certain, smooth and elegant. Her body sways, secure in his arms, to a natural rhythm. She looks at the faces around her and listens to the refrain of the melody as her skirts swirl soft against her legs. How could she have ever let worry or fear keep her from enjoying this dance?
In the arms of her father, dancing on his feet, all of her insecurities fall away. From this position, this mite of a girl, of no more significance than that, can dance. She may even show others the steps her father teaches her. Dancing with her father, she realizes that he intends for her to take each step with joy and with his love.
My step from the security I've found in writing and watching the dance from the sidelines has disappeared. The music is playing, and I'm somehow expected to dance. The world of marketing seems just as intimidating as that crowded dancefloor. There appears to be no certain path, no map and no exact steps to memorize. Every part of me wants to melt into the back tables.
Instead I must trust in God. I reach out my hand to him and take a small step onto his feet. With each beat of the music, I feel his presence, rely on him to guide me and relax into the dance. Where will it take me? What step is next? I am not sure. I do know that I'm dancing with my Father. He wants me to hear the music around me, enjoy the dance he's given me and rest secure in his arms.
Dancing on my father's feet,
(who is blocking out any worries about how she'll dance if the music changes from waltz to hard rock...)