Dancin' In The Front Yard

My daughter is funny. She is six (and-a-half!) and she's funny. She's the straight-man, not  the class clown  like her brother. She has been since she was a toddler. If she could not remember the correct word, she made one up. Birmingham was Bammerhammer (interesting), and pom-poms were bam-buoys. The other day she declared that she will take Betsy, our two year old neighbor, "under her wing". One Sunday after church the Mr. was talking with one of our ministers and she looked up at him, the minister, and with a straight face said, "s'up?".  He replied, "s'up?". She asked for a rolling desk chair for Christmas last year; she doesn't have a desk. So, when she ran into the kitchen last night and asked me to come to the front yard because she has made up a routine and wants to show me, I was not surprised.

I stood on the front porch while she, in all seriousness of the Olympic trials, began somewhat of a floor routine on our front lawn. She takes tumbling so it started with some cartwheels and a round-off or two, then came the dancing. The dancing. It was a mixture of a six (and-a-half!)-year-old-Christian- school-attending-girl's interpretation of hip-hop, and jazz, and those jerky gymnastics floor moves, ballet, and I think some African anteater ritual. She danced up and down and across the yard, solely intent on her routine. She ended with one really long run into a cartwheel, followed by a split and jazz hands. Mid-way through I thought I need to film this.  But then I thought no. This is for me - and whoever else is driving down our street. And it is pure her. Doing her thing not a care in the world. That is her motivation for her funniness, she does not care. Not because she has "no fear" as so many kids are labeled. She has fears; I know them. She does not care what others think and I pray it stays that way. But I know it won't. Cause I care what others think. I was supposed to copy her routine and also perform in the front yard. I used dinner on the stove as my excuse.

As I watched her I realized that because I care what people think, I do not do what Jesus tells me to do. Commands me to do. Tell people about Him. It's haaarrrd, I whine. Excuse after excuse runs through my head.

• I live in the South and "everyone goes to church" so if I ask someone to church more than likely they will say they already attend church and then there will be an awkward silence while one of us tries to change the subject.
• Since everyone goes to church then everyone already knows about Jesus and since I can't actually save the person only God can,  He is the one to change their heart, not me, so I will continue talking about someone's cute shoes.
• When I mess up folks will say something like "well all Christians are hypocrites". 
• It's haaaarrrrd.

But why is it hard? Why is it so easy for me to talk about my funny girl, the bread rising and about to go in the oven, Downton Abby (January!)? Why is it so hard for me to talk about the THING that is most important in my life. The thing that changed my life. The thing that isn't even a thing but a living God who loves me and wants the best for me because he created me and loves me. Why is it when the opportunity arises to talk about Jesus, when the conversation has lead to a natural opening of the subject, my neck gets tense, my teeth clench shut, my brain goes 90 miles an hour while I try and think of all the verses, all the theology, all the stuff I need to tell this person so that they can be just as sanctified and righteous as me. And in the end, to quote my girl, "I got nuthin'". 

When I re-read a post in the Holy Roller category I think, wow, I had it all together that day. What happened? Well, for one thing I am a sinner. But I am saved by the grace of God. Not because of anything great that I have done, believe me. Only because he called me. He called me because He loves me, He loves me because He created me. He created me to have a relationship with Him because He wants to have a relationship with me. Since I am a sinner, that relationship is broken so He had to fix it. He fixed it by sending his only Son to live a perfect life on Earth. To go through what we humans go through; to cry and laugh and cough and sneeze and run and sleep and work and eat. Then after living perfectly, he died a criminals death. Spilling his blood while the curtain before the Holy of Holys in the Temple was torn in two. So he died the death I deserve. 

Then, he rose from the dead. He is alive to be my advocate. So that God can see through my ugly sin. Now, I will not die but live an eternal life. Where there will be no more pain or tears. And while I am on this Earth, I have hope in things to come. I have the knowledge of truth in the Scriptures. I know God does not give us empty promises. I know His plan for my life is much better than this sorry outline I have devised. I just have to leave the dinner on the stove and dance in the front yard.