worship me, my child.

I take a deep breathe, let the God air fill my lungs, as I remove my shoes and prepare.

Prepare for dance, for divine, for chains to break. Prepare to be David dancing wild in the street.

"God, here I am!" I cry. "Take this small, broken life and use it as you deem best."

I step back, hands above my head, eyes clenched tight and I lean in to hear the Spirit whisper. I lean in for that voice that I am learning to hear, above the chaos and the lies and the voices of others.

Distraction steps in and tries to tango with me. "Three's a crowd," he says to my heart, shoving it aside. He looks me deep in the eye, wooing me with comfort and acceptance and ease and fame. He hands me a list six feet long of things that must be done, should have been done already.

I begin reading, eyes flickering through the list panicked. Like the rabbit of Lewis Carrol's mind, my whole being is saying, "I'm late!" as I head to that place in my brain where I attempt to sort out problems that are, may become or even once were. I replay conversations, fantasize of potential relationships, indulge that voice in my head telling me how far I've fallen short.

But then I look down at the feet, at the feet that are bare and prepared to walk this holy ground. I look at my still outstretched arms and then I clench my eyes even tighter, breathing deep the air of my father.

"My child," he whispers with jealousy and firmness. "What will matter when the air no longer comes? What will matter when your body goes limp and your heart stops beating? What will matter in this world, in all this world, when you die?"

I look down to the ground, like a child reprimanded, knowing the truth and embarrassed at how easily I forget. "You." I finally mutter.

You. Him. Jesus. Jesus is all that matters.

The list can wait, the problems can be shoved aside, the laziness and lies must be destroyed for now is the time, your feet are bare and our God is waiting.

"Worship me, my child." he beckons. "Worship me."