He’s sung a powerful song over my life for a long time, and he’s kept dancing his persuasive dance. And it’s beautiful.
He was a worship leader after all.
But if this beautiful dance is like a song with minor keys, then there are too many minor keys and they try to pull me down into a deep, dark hole of his delusion.
And so his dance, bewitching and ominous, is like a skillful cat that slowly stalks its prey.
But you. Yours is a dance of victory over me, a wedding ballad of love over my life. It is sweet and tender at the moments when I need to be consoled or loved, and a strong and triumphant symphony–a battle song in the times when I need to be reminded of the warrior that I am and to keep on going, even when I need to be carried through it.
Your moves are fast and then sometimes slow, but always graceful and strong and always somehow radiating joy and passion no matter how I’m feeling.
And yet at times I can feel his cold, enchanting grasp trying to hold me close while dancing in sync to his lullaby. And at times I do admit, I’ve turned away from you to ponder the sad and entrancing notes, receive the notes as my own, and match my voice to his so that I sing his song over myself and fall asleep.
But you reach out to me and I reach back to feel your warm and steady embrace, daring me to believe the love in your eyes, daring me to believe the words of life that resound over me, and so I fall in step with your lead.
And I ponder your notes and receive them as my own.
And I match my voice to yours,
so that I sing your truth over me,
shout your victory over me,
sing your song over me instead.
The Passionate Poet 