You would think a gangly group of high schoolers who bussed and camp-songed (and in some poor cases, car-sicked) their way into a tiny Peruvian mountain village would not make much of a difference. None of us became long term missionaries. None of us went back and made these expected radical changes in our schools and communities. None of us really accomplished the trite goals listed on our trip t shirts. However we all returned as transformed individuals, and for months afterward we could speak of little else.
A memory from those short days sticks out. We hiked to the next village and visited a small church that was effectively trying to reach friends, neighbors, surrounding towns, anyone, and they were a force to be reckoned with. While we were there, they began an impromptu church service with us that very hour, and the children excitedly taught us their favorite song. It was accompanied by a repetitive, exuberant dance. They could have continued for hours. It consisted of a few verses and one main chorus: "Danza Danza Como David." Dance, dance like David. We as the exhausted, soft Americans did our best to keep up. The notes filled the small room until it swelled into the streets. Never before, and never since have I ever witnessed such joy. Dance like David, indeed.
Joy is something that is often difficult to capture and equally as delicate to conjure, but it frames the emotion of happiness quite nicely. Joy is something that remembers the sun in July and February. It grasps the taste of water in desert and oasis. It is a things that ebbs and flows, yet in both consistency and uproar, it seeks to walk steady.
I'm at the point in my life where most of my friends are either getting married or having babies. Often that statement is followed by a negative intonation of "yet here I am...alone..." I have to admit though, I'm quite happy for those that I watch. Couples smile at each other in gooey, Austen-esque wonder. Young mothers practically glow as they grasp little fingers. Pinterest boards expand by the ton. And it's here in this brief moment of bliss that these people...usually...start getting made fun of.
Well meaning mentors try to warn of the storms ahead using sarcasm and brightly negative jokes. Little comments are made here and there. Eyes roll in expectant, light hearted exasperation. "Just wait." "It won't always be like this." "You'll see how it feels when baby stops sleeping through the night." "It won't be such a fairy tale after you have your first fight." One of my favorite professors often said, "you go home and live happily ever after for two weeks and then reality sets in."
Thank you, Buzz Killington. Lord of Buzzkill Manor. Thief of joy and demolisher of dreams.
Look, I get it, I really do. Life isn't a fairy tale, a person has to learn how to deal with problems as they arise, experiences will almost never go as one has imagined them. Life's tough, get a helmet. I am often the goody two shoes kid that always listens to the elders and always takes good advice because it will help me in the long run. But speaking as a twenty something, living amongst a generation of twenty somethings who are all just trying to figure it all out (and slowly realizing that no one really has it figured out at all), I have to say: enough is enough.
Some of my favorite people consist of a missionary couple that spent much of their sabbatical time serving on campus and encouraging students, Jerry and Sarah. They were and are awesome. Once they spoke of this very subject and offered an answer to it all that I still find oddly and immensely profound. It's goes something like this:
"Hey. Shut up."
When we really love our spouses for every ludicrous reason. When we make stupid faces at our children because it coaxes a giggle out of their tiny little faces. When we land the job we wanted, when we finally get the degree, when we accomplish something we didn't think we could do. When we are incandescently in love with Jesus at every time when it doesn't make any sense, and can't resist the urge to dance like David. Take a moment to enjoy, and say a hearty "shut up" to the Nay-Sayers. Shut up, The Man. Shut up, Buzz Killington. Shut up, well meaning voice in my head. Shut up, I say. Tomorrow has enough worries of its own.
It was in this wave of frustration and release when Jesus, in His kindness, pointed something out to me. He's taught me to invite Him into my sorrow. He's taught me to invite Him into my mistakes. He's taught me to invite Him into my development of spiritual character. But I haven't yet learned how to intentionally invite Him into the moments of joy. I've made fear a priority. I've allowed the habit of only coming to Him when I have a problem. I haven't danced like David at all.
Sometimes He isn't the over cautious voice of reason, tsk-ing at an over abundance of exuberance. He's the good shepherd, a loving Father, a stunning bridegroom, an intimate friend. He's close to the broken hearted, but equally as present in the moments that are well-lit and hysterical. He is the designer of laughter, the Craftsman of joy. In the words of a good friend of mine: "Of course God has a sense of humor, why do you think He made giraffes?"
It shouldn't come as a surprise that in His pursuit of us, He wants it all. Pain, and pleasure. Snow, and sun. Mourning, and celebrating. The Maker of Grace leaves no stone unturned in the hearts of men.
So on days like today, or tomorrow, or after, go for it. Emphatically remember all the genuine reasons for the hope that we have. Danza.
Danza Como David.
