I’d probably only met Liz for about all of a minute before we were both gushing out our daddy stories to each other. The natural ones, and even more, the ones about our Heavenly Father.
The one she shares here about her Father-Daughter dance has me just like I was when we first met–moved to tears and to thankfulness for a Heavenly Father who leads us and never lets us down. I pray it moves you too:
As I settled into the window seat on my flight to Florida, my neighbor to the left asked why I was headed to Tampa.
In a quaking voice, I choked out words that sounded foreign to my ears, “To see my Dad who is in the ICU.”
In one of the many ways God showed me He was with me over the hard days that followed, she revealed that she had been a hospice chaplain for many years. Then she asked me to tell her about my Dad.
From nearly the time I was able to walk, I can remember placing my tiny feet on top of my Daddy’s shoes and moving to the beat of 1960s and 1970s classics.
As I got a little older, I’d place my hand in his and let him spin me around on the splintered wood and crackling concrete of our back porch.
Despite our history of cutting a rug, I never really mastered the art of moving my body in rhythm to music. In fact, the only time I can remember dancing without feeling self-conscious is with him.
When it came time to pick the song for the Daddy-Daughter dance at my wedding, I struggled. Nothing seemed to fit our relationship just right.
Two weeks before the big event I finally confessed that I hadn’t yet selected the tune. He said, “Oh, I know what we’re dancing to.” It was as if he had pictured the moment in his head for years.
My heart skipped a beat when he told me.
I’ve Had the Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing
In heels? And a full length, beaded gown? On a polished dance floor? In front of nearly 200 of our closest family and friends, and some of my in-laws I hadn’t yet met?
Ummmm… What? No. Way.
But then, I remembered. I remembered how he had twirled me around to that very song over a decade before during a 4th of July BBQ. How he had never let me down. How his hand firmly gripped mine and his eyes focused on me without distraction. As I watched him and took my cues from him, I could anticipate our next move.
How well we danced when I let him lead me.
That’s when I knew it was going to be alright. That I could trust him to keep me from sliding across the dance floor in that crowded ballroom.
We danced to that song at my wedding and a friend of mine snapped a couple of my favorite photos during our performance. The skirt of my dress full and flowing. My arms stretched out wide. My hand firmly holding his. Our eyes focused on each other.
See the pictures and continue reading and dancing with Liz, and our Heavenly Father, over at her Messy Desk.
