Save a Dance…

They come to this place to have their broken parts fixed and the people I work with work hard. They care, they really do.  But when the fixing needs a little nudge or there is no fixing to be done, they come and get me.
That’s how I end up sitting at his bedside. 
They told him there was nothing left that they could do. 
I’d met him before—in his sleep. We couldn’t get him to awaken so I sat with his family in the dim light with rain pattering the window. They told me who he is—who he was…what he likes to do…Who he loves. They told me how fast this has all happened.
He’s a tall man but his proud frame has wasted into a smallish one. The top of his head is fuzzy with new-growing hair. He keeps rubbing it when he talks to me. No longer asleep, he looks me in the eye. He can’t always find the words; his mind is still a bit fuzzy. But when he can’t get it out, he just looks at me with a vague smile and points up. 
Yeah. And I smile back. With watery eyes. Because I know exactly what he’s talking about. 
His family is quiet and he keeps reaching for his wife’s hand. The air flows gentle in this place. I ask because I can’t help myself and I ask if he will. We pray together. I hold his hand and it is strong and tender. His voice is sure as he leads this familiar conversation. When he is finished, he tells me that he will see me again one day.
We will be dancing with joy, he says.
Will you save me a dance? I ask.
Yes, he says. I will.
And when I turn my back and walk away, I carry something real with me.
There is joy in the homecoming. There is great joy.
Precious in the sight of the LORD
   is the death of his faithful servants. (Psalm 116:15)
sharing with Emily today:


  1. says

    This is so beautiful in its tenderness. It reminds me of my precious Mom as Alzheimer’s claimed her mind. But her spirit? Her true identity? The disease couldn’t touch that. And that is where we met. Even when her mind no longer “knew” me.

  2. says

    This reminds me of the song about “He is the Lord of the dance, is He!” …

    It’s adapted from the Quaker hymn, “Tis A Gift To Be Simple.”

    And that includes playing outside I think!

  3. says

    This description is three-dimensional. I don’t just see it and hear it–I can feel your beautiful heart beating right through the words.

    Thank you for sharing this with us. One’s heart is a big, big thing to share.

  4. says

    this moment seems unspeakably sacred…save a dance for me, inspired words reflecting inspiring hope. I’m overwhelmed at the beauty in this post.

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