For five years, my twins took dance. This was well beyond the level at which I attended ballet as a child. In the fifties, my family had one car, which meant that if a class my mother wanted to sign me up for was not in walking distance, it was a non-starter. Fortunately, ballet was a block from our house, so she dressed me in black tights and sent me on my way. The pressure to perform was much lower then. Just a sweet little recital on a Saturday for moms and grandmas. 

The concerts that my twins participated in were amazing. Four dance teachers choreographed the pieces, with costumes and musical backup. The theater was packed, and for good reason. It was more than worth the price of admission, which was camouflaged as a donation. 

Recently, our daughters were together in France and went rock dancing. I wondered if this involved boulders, but they assured me that it is a kind of swing. 

Last week, I attended a dance performance, knowing that my beloved girls would not be part of it.  Other young women who had practiced for months gave their best for an hour of visual artistry. There was an incredible traditional dance from India, and the woman jingled fifty bells singing on her ankles. It is always incredible to see the synchronicity of the troop's movements... the leg lifts, and somersaults that look effortless. As it happened, I sat behind the mother of one of the senior dancers, and sat in front of another woman who has herself been a professional dancer. 

I enjoyed all of it, though I admit that I would have loved it more if my own darlings were on stage. 

I suppose there are limits to how much enthusiasm we humans can expend for things like performances and baseball games. So we focus it on those people we love, or teams close to home. Maybe we would plumb run out, if we tried to cheer for every dancer, or pitcher. 

What astonishes me, is that God has no such limits. Every single person who pirouettes, or swings, is His. And there are no restrictions on His fervor.