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To Dream. To Dance.

I used to dream of monsters in the dark, under my bed.

I used to dance in fairytales with heroes in my head.

Dad said “No” to dreaming of some far-off, handsome prince.

Mom’s dance showed that trusting God is safe, yet great suspense.

I grew to dream of lovers, travel, jewels—amazing stuff.

I grew to dance with danger where too much is not enough.

I’ve struggled some with dreaming of what’s not and ne’er will be.

It’s hard to dance where Satan lies with small print guarantees.

I’ve learned to dream of freedom from the pain of sin and debt.

I’ve learned to dance in rhythm, living well with few regrets.

I sense my dreams are greater as my nights are growing long.

And my days for dancing shorter as my body grows less strong.

But this I know of dreaming, seeing Christ as Life and Lord:

My future’s full of dancing, and the dance but one reward.

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