Caught Dancing in the Livingroom

I had never done quite such a thing before--me, a nearly 60-year-old lady, 

cancer survivor, 

missionary,

caught dancing in my living room. 

But before you make any assumptions, let me hasten to add that I had just gotten carried away with joy. 

It was a joy that was totally out of place, sort of like the swans Jonathan and I discovered at Woonsocket, South Dakota, on our way home from De Smet last weekend, paddling gracefully and peacefully about in the foreground of tornado devastation that had happened recently. 

There they were, two swans, right there in the little lake we'd seen. We decided to veer over and park to take a walk and enjoy some sunshine on our long trip home. Only as we drove down the road later did I notice one shed or building after another totally collapsed, and then remembered hearing about a tornado coming through this area not long ago. 

But on this day, the sun shone, the swans swam, and a middle-aged couple married thirty-one years were walking hand in hand across a white-railed bridge to a little island and a gazebo in Woonsocket, SD (named after the little village of Woonsocket, Rhode Island, where the town founder came from). I was a bit cold in the chilly breeze, and I realized once again how weary and weak I still feel at times after over 3 years of cancer fight, a big move, trying to minister in native missions, and carrying personal burdens of new sorrows and concerns. 

But this morning, after some difficult weeks, I thought about a loved one who had been devastated recently, and yet how all of a sudden yesterday he had been given no less than three opportunities to minster to other devastated people--

a father whose own father was dying in the hospital, having rejected God and needing prayer;

an Amish man who had been fighting depression mostly because of a deep fear of not being good enough to get to heaven (none of us are, he was told, but then Scriptures were shared to show that faith in Jesus is the way to heaven);

and another husband and father whose wife is fighting for her life. That man called weeping. He did not call the person who had his swans in a row, or his act together, or his nose in the air.

He called someone who has also wept recently, who has also faced loss and pain, and who knew what the bottom of a deep and dark pit looked like. 

And I thought about the day only a few weeks ago when I was back at the hospital after my mastectomy surgery--a surgery I had desperately hoped to avoid--when we ended up touching three different people's lives that day including praying for a stabbing victim and hugging a young woman who had just lost her brother. 

I was seeing under my very own eyeballs God's promise coming true of turning everything around for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. 

Even when we fail, He remains faithful. 

Even when we make mistakes, he redeems them for our good. 

When we sin, He forgives.

When we humble ourselves, He lifts us up.

When we are broken, He heals us.

And when the devil wants us to wallow in pain and agony--

well, he just had to turn tail and run 

because this morning

all by herself with no one to see

a lady in a home in a no-name of a place in South Dakota was dancing around in the living room, hands raised to my God in heaven, 

dancing in utter joy and worship and bliss--

because God always, always works together even the worst of things for our good and His glory.