The Language of Common History

The other day, I wanted to write my brother about something that’s happening in his life. Instead of inboxing him, I wrote directly on his facebook wall, knowing that no one but he would be able to discern the meaning of the statement. Since my words could only be deciphered by a long history of inside jokes, I wasn’t too surprised when another friend commented on the post to ask what on earth I was talking about.

A common history creates a language all  its own. You can speak without words or with words that make no sense to third-party observers. Similarly to the secret “love language” I share with my brother, I find that I communicate with God in a way that only He and I understand. Just like I wanted to write my brother and let him know I was thinking about him, I’m often amazed by the simple ways God weaves His love notes into my life.

My friend Emily got me one of those Willow Tree figurines for my birthday. You know, those faceless statues that you can find in quaint little gift shops across America.

“She reminded me of you,” Emily said, “Because she has brown hair, bare feet, and she’s a dancer.”

Normally, I’m not all that impressed by these figurines, but this one was different. I felt as if I had seen that image somewhere before (and it wasn’t in the quaint little gift shops).

Ever since I read Shannon Kubiak Primicerio’s The Divine Dance, I’ve been enthralled by a dancing God. It’s the language God and I speak to each other. Still, I’ve always envisioned Jesus as a Carpenter. I think of the way He molds and shapes us into the image He envisioned us to be from the beginning. And I felt as if that image had just been placed in my hands, a permanent reminder of the person God is continually shaping me to be.

Though not even Emily understands the significance of her gift, that dancer figurine sits on my bookshelf and, with a language understood by none but God and I, beckons me into the greatest dance of all time.

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