Today was a beautiful day.
So was yesterday.
They went together in a rather stunning sort of way, like apples and cinnamon, and you knew they were just meant to be a set.
This set, this yesterday-and-today, was also very hard. In a draining sort of way. I am, to put it like my mother does, thoroughly "pooped."
You see, yesterday-and-today was full to the brim: It was auditions. But that's not the whole of it.
To start off, "the baby" (see previous post) came suddenly yesterday morning. Then came seventeen girls from around the country. And a few from other countries. They told their testimonies. We all took class. And then we danced for them.
We dance all the time here. Sometimes before strangers, often before teachers, but always for an "audience of one." We've rehearsed almost every day, and performed together at least thirty times just this year, the same thing over and over. You would think it would get old.
But it doesn't.
And yesterday was particularly un-old. It was brand-new, fresh, and unlike any other performance I've been a part of. THIS is what happens when new mercies are lavished on you each morning - such love begs a response. We as dancers give the Lord our imperfect offerings of what is in our hearts, like children who give their mothers adoring, wobbly scribbles.
And through yesterday-and-today, Christ has been opening my eyes to His worth. His perfect love and faithfulness are worth so much more than my insecurities, my doubts, my embarrassed-ness.
Who am I to say that my imperfection can somehow detract from His glory? He is worth all my tears, my sweat, my pain, and yes, my undivided attention, no matter what else is vying for it.
From a logical point of view, this was our most difficult performance of the year. Dancing before strangers, or even friends, is one thing. Dancing in front of a group of people who share your profession, can rip apart your technique with a cursory glance, and might be replacing you is another.
But somehow none of that mattered.
Because we weren't dancing for them.
Yes, yesterday-and-today was filled to the brim - with worship. To physically exhaust oneself in worship is not a privilege many can claim. I can read and sing about giving Him everything all day long. But when I offer my body as a living sacrifice, literally, until there is scarcely breath in my lungs or a muscle that is not shaking, I begin to understand it.
Jesus is worth all I am and more.
And His strength is made perfect in my weakness.