This morning I was peddling around when I heard another one of those commercials promising to change your entire life with some drastic diet. Normally, I am quite adept at ignoring them. But somewhere in the middle of the suffering heroine’s testimony, she exclaimed, “I used to dance, for God’s sake!”
And my heart shifted. Yeah. I used to.
Now, mind you, I am quite sure she meant those words very differently. Her “for God’s sake” was frustration. An exclamation. Maybe even something she probably shouldn’t have said. But that’s not what I heard. I heard for God’s sake.
And suddenly, I felt sorrow. Genuine sorrow. Because I used to dance for God’s sake.
I was never coordinated enough to be on anybody’s dance team. Nobody was calling me up front for a choreographed praise dance. There were no matching garments, rehearsed steps or applause. I just danced.
Sunday mornings, sometimes in the back of the sanctuary, there was no audience that mattered. No ministry assignment. No particular reason at all. Just the Spirit of God and me. Contrasting dance partners—an infinite and omnipresent God dancing with a brokenhearted single mother.
I danced because He was good. He danced because He wanted me always to know that goodness. I danced because something inside of me couldn’t stay still in His presence. He danced to let me know He would never be still. I danced for God’s sake. He gave His all for mine.
And apparently, He even supplied the music.
Years later, I would find words in Zephaniah that gave language to something that brokenhearted single mother could only feel: “With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.” — Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)
Imagine that. While I thought I was the one bringing the praise, Scripture paints a picture of a God who rejoices over His children with singing. I brought the dance. He supplied the song. Maybe that is why I never needed a praise team, choreography or an audience in that little space in the back of the sanctuary. We already had music.
And somewhere between then and now, life got heavier. Responsibilities got heavier. My body got heavier. Some days, my heart got heavier too. And without ever deciding to stop, somehow I stopped dancing.
Maybe that is why those four little words pierced me this morning. Because I wonder how many things we once did simply for God’s sake that we slowly stopped doing. Not because we stopped loving Him. Maybe we just got tired. Maybe life became complicated. Maybe what once flowed freely became another thing we thought had to be done well, done publicly, or done for a purpose.
But what if pleasing God is the purpose?
Paul wrote, “So whether we are here in this body or away from this body, our goal is to please him.” — 2 Corinthians 5:9 (NLT)
What if we reclaimed those words—for God’s sake? What if we loved somebody when loving them wasn’t easy, for God’s sake? Forgave when nobody would blame us for holding the grudge, for God’s sake? Gave when nobody knew our name, sang when nobody handed us a microphone, prayed when nobody asked us to lead, served when nobody was watching, and danced even if the dance didn’t look quite like it used to—all simply for God’s sake?
Not to earn His love. Not to impress anybody else. Not because there is an audience waiting to applaud. But simply because there is still something inside of us that wants our Father to be pleased.
And maybe this morning wasn’t really about remembering the woman who used to dance in the back of the sanctuary. Maybe it was about remembering why she danced. Because God was good. Because God was present. Because God was moving even when she couldn’t see where He was taking her. And because a brokenhearted single mother somehow knew she had a dance Partner who would never leave the floor.
Maybe my dance today won’t look like it did back then. My feet may not move as fast, and my knees may have a meeting about it afterward. Life has certainly given me a few more reasons to sit down. But He is still good. He is still present. He is still dancing.
And perhaps the invitation this morning isn’t for me to become the woman I used to be. Maybe it is simply to remember that the God who danced with her is still here.
The music never stopped. Maybe I just stopped listening for it.
So perhaps I’ll dance again. Not for applause, recognition or ministry. Not because anybody is watching, and certainly not because I suddenly learned choreography. I’ll dance because He is good. I’ll dance because He is worthy. I’ll dance because I want my life—not just my feet—to bring Him pleasure.
After all, He gave His all for mine. Surely I can still give Him something simply for His.
For God’s sake.

Love, Chelle