dance with me
6.26.06
All week I’ve thought about your gift of this wonderful book to me. In the restarurant, when I opened it, I knew exactly what I would do with it, and everyday since, I’ve tried to get started. Therefore – I’ve had many thoughts that should be herein contained, but have flittered by like 10 years of previous overwhelmingly warm and grateful thoughts of fatherly love and pride.
No more though. I’ve now begun, and henceforth, will record glorious moments and feelings and prayers for you until all the lines are filled.
I cannot express how wonderful it feels to have been recognized in the quoted on the cover of this journal. I so desperately wish to impart that character in you. The truth is though, that I think I merely have to help protect it. You were born with the freedom to live in this way, and have exercised it so beautifully.
On Sunday, Father’s day, when you helped me paint a picture of “dancing before our heavenly Father,” I watched you clearly demonstrated dancing as if no one was watching you. I truly know that your dancing had nothing to do with being seen, and everyone saw that. They got to peer inside a heart to see what it looks like to worship in intimacy with God. You were not affected, pretentious, selfish, showy…
You are probably the first person in my life with whom I’ve shared music and truly felt that you listened to it with the same ears I do. This week we painted Jack’s room together, and listened. Last night we danced and danced together in the kitchen. Old, goofy dad songs. Not only did you tolerate them, but you claimed them. You sift the nuggets of truth in the playful exaggerated sentimentality and romance and own it. Thank you for dancing with me Molly. I think when I’m 80, I’ll remember every dance, from when you were but weeks old and I would lay you between palm and elbow and waltz you off to sleep. You would stare, unblinking into my eyes, and mine would well up with tears. Later, I danced you around the living room and you’d giggle. Still later, we danced like there was no tomorrow, all dressed up, in Dallas. When I told you about missing you and dancing with Laurel at Mack and Meredith’s wedding, you cried. What a bond. I love you so much.
Whenever I watch you en pointe, I’m going to swell and pretend you’re thinking about dancing with me. All alone. No one watching. Just daddy and daughter.
All week I’ve thought about your gift of this wonderful book to me. In the restarurant, when I opened it, I knew exactly what I would do with it, and everyday since, I’ve tried to get started. Therefore – I’ve had many thoughts that should be herein contained, but have flittered by like 10 years of previous overwhelmingly warm and grateful thoughts of fatherly love and pride.
No more though. I’ve now begun, and henceforth, will record glorious moments and feelings and prayers for you until all the lines are filled.
I cannot express how wonderful it feels to have been recognized in the quoted on the cover of this journal. I so desperately wish to impart that character in you. The truth is though, that I think I merely have to help protect it. You were born with the freedom to live in this way, and have exercised it so beautifully.
On Sunday, Father’s day, when you helped me paint a picture of “dancing before our heavenly Father,” I watched you clearly demonstrated dancing as if no one was watching you. I truly know that your dancing had nothing to do with being seen, and everyone saw that. They got to peer inside a heart to see what it looks like to worship in intimacy with God. You were not affected, pretentious, selfish, showy…
You are probably the first person in my life with whom I’ve shared music and truly felt that you listened to it with the same ears I do. This week we painted Jack’s room together, and listened. Last night we danced and danced together in the kitchen. Old, goofy dad songs. Not only did you tolerate them, but you claimed them. You sift the nuggets of truth in the playful exaggerated sentimentality and romance and own it. Thank you for dancing with me Molly. I think when I’m 80, I’ll remember every dance, from when you were but weeks old and I would lay you between palm and elbow and waltz you off to sleep. You would stare, unblinking into my eyes, and mine would well up with tears. Later, I danced you around the living room and you’d giggle. Still later, we danced like there was no tomorrow, all dressed up, in Dallas. When I told you about missing you and dancing with Laurel at Mack and Meredith’s wedding, you cried. What a bond. I love you so much.
Whenever I watch you en pointe, I’m going to swell and pretend you’re thinking about dancing with me. All alone. No one watching. Just daddy and daughter.
posted by rod at 1:48 PM
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