Dance? He set my feet to Dancing! That Day I Danced in Church sure startled me!
Little Baptist girls are taught dancing is bad. I know because I was one. I remember arguing with my dear junior Sunday School teacher, Cheba Wilson, also a neighbor. She told me that I shouldn’t dance.
I told Miss Cheba, “But King David danced, and his wife said it was bad, and she was wrong! Something ugly happened to her, so you probably better not say that.”
I think I was about eleven or twelve by then, old enough to know I liked dancing.
And David danced before the Lord with all his might; 2 Samuel 6:14
As a 60s teen, some friends called me a dancing machine. I loved keeping time—(head hanging) with my hips—to Wipeout!
Then as a twenty-five-year-old mother of three in 1975, my little family joined a new church. Well, at the time we joined, Shady Grove held a membership in the Southern Baptist Convention.
But our congregation was soon dis-fellowshipped, kicked out, because we had been baptized by fire with the evidence of speaking in tongues. And those men didn’t believe that was of God. Ron and I served as delegates at that convention and witnessed firsthand the ugliness of those who removed us and Beverly Hills Church from their rolls and asked us to leave.
Fast forward to growing in this new experience and falling in love all over again with Father, Son, and Holy Ghost—Everyone danced at Shady Grove, at least it seemed so to me. Looking back, I’m certain there were others who didn’t. I weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds and knew I’d look like a whale. I’d be a bouncing hunk of blubber. That’s what Satan told me. I believed his lies.
I remember hanging on to the pew in front of me, gripping so tight my knuckles turned white. God said, DANCE. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Every service, I’d suffer such guilt and sorrow over my pride. I joined a program where Deby Dearman choreographed a group of ladies in dance, thinking that would be good enough. I loved it, but it didn’t satisfy Father Who still said, DANCE.
We’re going to fast forward one more time. Now it’s the early 80s. We went to another church Northside Missionary Baptist, also going through pangs of moving into the fullness of the Holy Spirit’s baptism. No one there danced, except every so often, my precious mother, crippled by arthritis, she danced.
Then we had a visitor come, a musical minister named Solomon King. He brought Hebrew songs with their minor keys and melodies that stirred my soul. (example: Paul Wilbur’s music) I stood up on the platform, a member of the praise team. I promise, I was standing there one minute and the next, my feet were dancing! God did it, I did not. He set my feet to dancing!
“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;” Ecclesiastes 3:4
Horrified, I hollered to Him, “God! God! No one dances here!” I twirled, I leapt off the platform. Before long everyone was on their feet dancing all around the sanctuary. From then on, I’ve been a dancer in church. Some that I visit, He never tells me to dance, but others—whether the congregation dances or not—He’s told me to dance. And when He tells me to, I do.
If He tells me to do anything, no exceptions, and I believe it’s Him, no matter what it is, I’m doing it. I’ll look the fool. I’m stepping out. I’ll never hang onto a pew again, believing the devil’s lies. Since that day, I do what He tells me—that Day I Danced in Church. It changed me. I’ve learned another lesson in obedience, how it SHOWS Him how very much I love Him.
What did your mama always say? Did you have a life changing experience when you knew God was doing the moving?
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