On Monday mornings, my soul is a dry and creaky thing – like the tin man before the oil can was applied.
It is with self-imposed solemnity that I greet the sun on Mondays because Mondays are days for sobriety.
On Mondays, the world frowns at fun and thoughts of recreation are slipped between the pages of the Sunday paper like junk mail to be discarded with the color comics.
Monday morning is a yawn and a face slap – a tongue scalded with hasty coffee – and a quick glance at headlines that never carry good news.
If I only served a Sunday God, life would be unbearable, indeed. Sundays are long and lazy, worship music echoing through a day where time passes lightly and laughter is blessed by God.
If He were a Deity who greeted me with scowls on Monday, pencil poised over a legal pad list of things to do, clucking His tongue if I dared not rise before the sun, who could bear it? The memory of Sunday football crushed beneath His wing-tipped toes like a smoldering cigarette as He ticked off ways I might possibly earn His approval by Friday (Thursday if I focus and put in some overtime), who could bear?
But I serve a God who smiles on Mondays, chuckles on Tuesday, belly laughs on Wednesday, and invites me to dance with Him Thursday through Friday. I serve the God of poet kings – the God who knows the human heart needs a plate full of joy over-easy on Monday, Tuesday, and every day.
This God is a God who knows better than I what is at stake with each moment of life, each encounter, every choice. He holds the weight of eternity in the palm of His hand and hears the cries of a million hungry children at any given moment.
But He dwells within me even on Mondays and I become a tree of righteousness. The strong living water of His Son courses through me and I bear the juicy fruit of the Spirit – one type of which is called JOY. It hangs heavy on my branches, enticing others with its purple ripeness and the promise of refreshment, testifying to the fullness of this God and His superiority above all others who make that claim.
The world invents religions and false gods who demand the lives of men and women who dare to dance. Misguided zealots who slaughter those who dare to listen to banned music and move in ways that aren’t approved by the keepers of their righteousness.
How much better the true God who beckons us to worship Him with new songs, to dance before Him, to raise our hands in prayer and praise, and to sing of His great deeds?
How much better the true God whose heart is the seed-bed of all art, poetry, music, and dance that celebrates truth and beauty?
How much better the God of warrior poets and shepherd kings than this angry Monday morning idol who slaughters children who go to parties? Who beheads those who dare to laugh?
One day the dragon wearing the mask of this false religion will find himself without a head. And there will be dancing and singing in streets paved with gold.
All religions are not equal. There is only One True God – you will know Him by His laughter.
Listen for it on any given weekday.
He is the Lord of the Dance. Choose this day whom you will serve – it’s an easy choice, especially on a weekday.
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What a reminder as I grumble myself out of bed and try to find something to keep me busy in this forced retirement. I’ll try to remember to dance as I go about this day that the Lord has made. Thanks for the reminder. MOMMA
what a gorgeous post!