He doesn't communicate like you and I. God has gifted "Mr. T" uniquely. Perfectly. He was uncomfortable outside of his routine (I could relate: I'm so much the same). He began repeating over and over that he wanted to go for a ride. That he wanted to sing. He ran into the kitchen where there was a CD player and turned the music on. Loud. And he began to dance. As he grew more comfortable with us, he and Cade began chasing each other through the house calling each other names. "Monkey Butt" was the game they played/made up/called each other. Pretty spiritual, eh?
You choose the humble and raise them high
You choose the weak and make them strong
You heal our brokenness inside and give us life.
His excitement over the songs was contagious. Palpable. It inspired us all. This joy-filled boy, fist pumping in the air shouting songs that would rival any holiday music station. I know for sure the neighbors didn't catch this dance scene as they did earlier in the week as I was having a personal celebration. But I know that God saw. And dance we did.
During this beautifully, birth-pained season that makes memories both good and bad surface. It suddenly seems brighter. Hope-filled.
Yes, we danced. If you can imagine it-we even fist pumped. The loud cadence of the drums, felt to the tips of our toes. Cade, Mr. T, Aaron, and myself. Dancing to the rhythm of love. To the tune of "The Same Love." God's. Holy, unblemished, and wholly pure. Calling us to put aside our worry. Drawing us out of our mental reverie. Yes, each of us.
The same love that set the captives free
The same love that opened eyes to see
Is calling us all by name
You are calling us all by name
The same God that spread the heavens wide
The same God that was crucified
Is calling us all by name
You are calling us all by name
I guess sometimes the only way we can hear it is to be like Mr. T, and turn the music up.
Loud.
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