Something HAS to Change

It is with a very heavy heart that I sit down to type this morning.  I don't think that it will come as any surprise that situations in my personal life have become somewhat overwhelming in recent months, but that's not what I'm here to talk about.

Almost four and a half years ago, I stood in a hospital room next to the bed my mother was lying in, waiting on results from a mass that they found in her abdomen.  Just a few months prior, she was treated for a mass in her breast.  The doctors feared that the masses were incarcerated cysts.  Fortunately, this was not the case, nor were they cancerous.  They were each, in fact, an abscess caused by diabetes that was out of control.  My mother's blood sugar that day was 450.  The normal range is 70-120.  She was morbidly obese.  I stood in that hospital room, pregnant with her 2nd granddaughter, fearful that she would never see her grow up.  The doctors told her that she wouldn't live to see her granddaughters graduate high school, if something didn't change.

Just over a year later, I received one of the most painful phone calls I can recall.  My father had been hospitalized with internal bleeding.  After several tests to determine where the bleeding was coming from, they discovered a large tumor in his esophagus--it was cancer and he must begin aggressive chemotherapy and radiation immediately if there was any hope for survival.  The type of cancer that he had was directly related to his lifestyle choices with something like 80% of cases being overweight men who drank excessively.

Fortunately, both of my parents are still alive.  Each living comparably healthier lives than ever before.  The fear of not being present in the life of her grandchildren was enough to make my mother lose more than 130 lbs.  She went from being on some of the highest doses of insulin and over $100 (after insurance) prescription expense monthly, to completely diabetes free.  She is happier and very present in my daughters' lives.  My dad went through the chemo and radiation.  I stood by his bedside while he hallucinated because of the medications.  I sat by his side daily, running his feeding tube.  I watched my once strong and intimidating father become a frail old man.  Then I watched him slowly regain his strength.  I held my breath and prayed and waited by the phone while he went for his follow-up PET scan, and cried tears of relief when they declared him cancer free.  I celebrate the more cautious choices that he makes now, on what he consumes.  This story has a happy ending, but unfortunately, the one I must tell, does not.

Over the last few months I have watched the health of several people I know and care about rapidly decline, all because of issues that if addressed soon enough, could have been prevented.  Please know that the story I am about to tell is not intended to hurt anyone, it contains no judgement, just genuine heartfelt pain and concern.  About a month ago, my mom's cousin died, unexpectedly at age 66.  She was an amazingly beautiful woman.  I had many fond childhood memories of sitting in her living room, wrestling with her sons and eavesdropping on her conversations with my mom.  She had the most amazingly memorable voice.  It was kind of raspy with that distinctive Italian-American accent.  She had a heart bigger than anyone I've ever met.  No exceptions.  She always told it like it was, but no one ever got mad at her.  She was exactly what I hope someone remembers me as some day.  She also had diabetes, and weight issues that had gotten out of control.  This is ultimately what took her life.

Yesterday, my husband received a phone call that a childhood friend had passed away.  A young man of only 27.  His weight had gotten so unmanageable that he resorted to bariatric surgery.  Through many complications from several surgeries, he ultimately lost the battle.

I have another family member who daily struggles with the complications of diabetes that is out of control.  Unfortunately at this point, its all about managing pain and symptoms.  She has lost her vision almost completely, has neuropathy and must undergo painful dialysis because she has lost most of her kidney function.  I ache for her.  My heart breaks for the pain that she's going through.  My heart breaks for the pain of the loss for the friends and family of the young man.  My heart aches and breaks for my cousins and aunts and uncles, for myself and my family who lost such an amazing woman.  Most of all, my heart aches for our country, for the thousands of people who are facing these or similar health complications, which  if addressed soon enough can be avoided.

Within my immediate circle, two people died senselessly.  More than a dozen more are suffering unnecessarily.  I can't bear the thought or the pain of losing someone else because I didn't try to help.  The fact is that I am confident that I too would have been added to this list if it wasn't for a friend that offered me a life line.  I had spent every year of my life for the first 23 years overweight.  My weight was rapidly spiraling out of control.  It was my daughters, that were ultimately the catalyst for the change, but my friend Carrie who was my biggest cheerleader and who introduced me to Turbo Jam--for me, it was Beachbody.  Three and a half years and nearly a dozen programs and 130 lbs later and I have the confidence that it will never be my weight that will take my life.  Beachbody was what made sense for me and I decided to pay that forward, and sadly, I've fallen short.  I've not been the catalyst for change that I had hoped to be.  As I heard the news yesterday of another death and more complications, I knew that I could no longer be silent.

The fact is this, I love Beachbody and I fully believe and am committed to their mission.  I celebrate the work that they have done for me and several people that I care about, BUT more than anything, I love to see my friends and family HAPPY and HEALTHY.  I want to help you.  I don't want to see anyone I love and care about, or even know for that matter, suffer a senseless death or painful medical complications because of something that could be avoided.  I don't care if you buy P90X, I don' t care if you never take a single sip of Shakeology, but what I do care about is you caring for yourself.  PLEASE, let me help you.

Whatever support you might need, I will offer it.  Encouragement, recipes, workout recommendations, resources, etc.  You can find me on facebook, comment here or email me privately at michelleesander@gmail.com   PLEASE, DON'T WAIT UNTIL IT'S TOO LATE!

Like a Primal Battle Cry

There comes a point in time, I believe in all people's lives that they look at their life and say, "this is not AT ALL what I had planned."  Maybe it doesn't happen to everyone, but for the sake of not feeling completely ostracised, I am going to believe that it does. 

Things have been in flux.  For a long time, things in my life have been in flux.  It feels like I'm in the middle of a rushing river and just trying to ride the current, but jagged rocks block the path and so I'm repeatedly bashed into these rocks, snagged on branches and ultimately inhibited from the metamorphosis that seems so natural.  The irony, though, is that I don't know where this river goes, I don't know what the metamorphosis is, just that it must happen.  The feeling is that the pressure to be and do all of the right things and fulfill all of the right roles and maintain all of the right statues is so pervasive and yet something deep within me screams in opposition like a primal battle cry.

My throat burns.  It burns from swallowing the words that I would say, from swallowing the feelings and emotions that I shouldn't feel, or say.  My gut wretches, not knowing what to say or how to say it, but knowing that there is something that I must say.  Though I try to find comfort in the resolution that everyone has entertained this same scenario, I maintain a feeling of complete solitude. 

This is not AT ALL what I had planned....

Numb

I often struggle with the thought of what to post, what not to post, how much to reveal about the inner workings of my personal life to the intimate group of friends I call the internet.  I often get really uncomfortable and annoyed by those people who feel the need to reveal every intimate detail of their life on the interwebs and I certainly wouldn't want to be one of those people.  At the same time, there is a certain catharsis that comes from putting my thoughts into words.  Of course, thank goodness I do have some discretion, or I'd probably have FAR fewer friends.  Sometimes I think that the thoughts and ideas that I have are not unique, but shared by many (especially other SAHMs) but we just lack the courage to open our mouth and be honest. 

Recently, I've been engaged in an inner battle.  Things in our lives have been tumultuous, to say the least.  I won't bore you with the details, but it's been a REALLY hard few months, with more fog on the horizon.  After spending weeks strung out on nerves and way too much caffeine, I think I just sorta turned it all off.  I'm not sure when it happened exactly, or why, but a certain numbness has set in. 

Numbness is such a strange and fascinating phenomenon.  I'm highly familiar with it.  Three years ago, I lost feeling on my left side, and it's not returned.  Over the last 3 years I have experienced numbness that has come and go in various parts of my body.  When this first occurred, it was frustrating and troublesome, and confusing.  I felt like I was losing my mind all of the time.  We would laugh at my clumsiness as I would try to put my hand in my pocket, only to be halted by my wayward pinky sticking out because I couldn't feel that it hadn't made it into the pocket as well.  We had scary experiences, where I burned myself on the stove or the iron, because I didn't detect the heat on my left arm, or ran bathwater too hot for the girls, because I tested it with the wrong hand.  I say all of this to explain the feeling--or lack of feeling.  We've all had that moment when our foot has fallen asleep from sitting cross legged for too long, but this is different.  When an appendage falls asleep, it's numb, but almost with a heightened sense of feeling.  This is a complete lack of feeling.  Imagine, looking at your arm as if you're watching someone else perform the task that you know you're completing--present but completely absent in the situation in which you are a player. 

In recent weeks, this numbness has transcended the physical into the emotional.  Where the goal of thriving is far too removed and function is all you can muster.  It isn't like things have gotten exponentially more difficult in this time, or that any specific new developments have unfolded, it just sorta happened.  Yesterday, as I sat on the couch, feeling completely apathetic about life, and allowing Emily to watch way more television than typical, it dawned on me that I had merely become a player in my own life, but had begun to lack the initiative to be the director.  This is a terrifying realization.  I began to think over the last few weeks and some of the decisions that I've made, and I realized that so many of them were strictly an attempt to feel--anything.

Two weeks ago, we threw a birthday party for a friend.  She was turning 20 and at the party she asked, "What's the best advice you can offer me for my 20s?"  Little did she know how much I was wrestling with this thought for the last several weeks.  I immediately piped up and said, "Don't rush it!"  I never realized how much I had rushed my life until I was talking to a friend about a week prior.  My friend mentioned the challenges of working while going to school, and I thought about my senior year of college.  I was taking 18 hours at school, working 2 jobs, getting married, and pregnant, all at 21!  I did so much, perhaps I set a precedent for myself--an expectation of sorts.  Here, 6 years later, when marriage is comfortable, the decision has been made that we're done having children, I'm a stay at home mom, and life is on coast mode--I feel like I'm lacking something.  The urge is to be reckless, impulsive, make bad decisions--make ANY decisions, just to feel something, to have something to be excited about again.  While I know there's no hope for my arm, I can only desperately cling to the hope that something will ignite me mentally again.

Teaching the Teacher

One of my roles in youth ministry is to lead a small group for middle school girls.  Our small group meets on Wednesday evenings, and early this week I was thinking about the girls in my group and thinking about the concept of beauty.  Before I even had looked over the materials for what I was to cover this week, I started thinking about our society and the messages of beauty that we convey to our young people.  

In nature, specifically with birds, the male is always the more attractive bird, by comparison.  This is because the males know they cannot reproduce on their own and need to attract a mate.  The males are often more brightly colored, and get very “puffed” up, sing mating songs and try to attract the female.  When I think of humans, it’s completely different.  Somewhere there was a breakdown.  Everywhere I go, even to pick up my daughter from school, I see women utilizing every “tool” at their disposal to garner the attention of men.  The necklines plunge lower, the hemlines creep higher, the makeup gets thicker, salon fees go up.  What has happened?  When did we as women devalue ourselves so deeply that we will physically give ourselves away for the sake of acceptance??  

I was musing over these thoughts when I sat down to prepare for our lesson, which was on the topic of “Who I am NOT.”  The lesson spoke to the girls about how God doesn’t want us to strive to win the approval of people, but of Him.  Even as adults, this is such a poignant message.  I think specifically adult women and their handbags.  I could never rationalize spending several hundred dollars on a designer bag.  This is not something that I see the value in.  Largely because I change my mind and opinion so often, I wouldn’t be content to carry the bag long enough to “get my money’s worth” (which in my opinion would be something like 10 years!)  Yet, I look around at these women (and even teenage girls) carrying Coach purses and I scratch my head.  In most cases these bags are not exceptionally attractive, or more so than a bag that could be purchased for a fraction of the cost.  I have to assume it’s a position of acceptance.  Whether or not this is a conscious mentality is of little consequence.  The fact is that somewhere along the lines someone somehow conveyed the message that “you’re better if you carry a designer bag.”  

As I was preparing and sharing this message with the girls in my group, and thinking about the verse in 1 Samuel 16:7 that says, “The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them.  People judge by outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”  This got me thinking about my own insecurities and the messages that I share.  Even before we left for church on Wednesday, both of my girls had fallen to tears because they didn’t think they looked “cute” enough in what they were wearing.  They were worried that their friends would think it was “ugly.”  Again, I stood aghast because the messages that they have been lead to believe are that appearance is everything.  My heart ached, and I wondered how much of that I was at fault for.  As someone in the fitness industry a tremendous amount of attention is given to physical appearance.  Every gym in the country focuses on looking better.  The focus of fitness should be health, not appearance, but the fact is that we’re lead to believe that health is secondary.  I like to try and convince myself that is my motivation, and initially it was, but now, when my nutrition falls off, or  I start to slack on my workouts, it’s always the reflection in the mirror that gets me back on track, not some health effects. 

How different would things be if I actually followed this message that I tried to convey to my students—finding our beauty and value in God?  This is something that I’ve struggled with a lot.  I’ve done a few Bible studies that have focused on this.  I’ve attended several seminars, I’ve shared this message with young girls for as long as I can remember, but it’s still a struggle.   Maybe it’s because this message wasn’t shared with me until I was an adult.  As a child I was always overweight, which is part of my obsessive focus on my weight, but as an overweight child I was always receiving the message that I was less valuable.  Boys would act disgusted if they found out that I liked them.  Girls would make fun of my adult clothes that I had to wear because when I was growing up, there weren’t child plus sized clothing.  The point is that I had already been so indoctrinated with the messages that if you aren’t thin and pretty, you aren’t worthwhile, that as an adult, hearing messages counter to that were difficult to believe and accept.  I think this emphasizes the importance of teaching our young people, especially girls, to know their value in Christ.  To share this message young, and often to ensure that they internalize it, believe it and carry it though their lives.  It’s equally as important to teach our young boys that a girl is more than her appearance and how to treat them with respect.  Maybe at some point, we can shift this attitude and mentality to have the self confidence to keep our bodies covered and our self-esteem high.

The Journey to a Shaved Head

A few months ago, I was sitting in a youth service when two beautiful young ladies came into the room.  One of these young girls was in a wheel chair.  I knew nothing of these girls, I didn’t know their story, their names or even who they arrived with, but my heart went out to them.  Not in a sympathetic, I feel so bad for her being in a wheel chair sort of way, but in a compassionate, heartfelt, I love these girls sort of way.  

About 2 weeks went by and I hadn’t thought much else about these girls.  I hadn’t seen them and I’d been preoccupied with the business of my own life, when I was asked if a woman named Sharon could contact me and tell me a little about these girls.  Of course my response was an immediate “yes.”  Sharon contacted me via email and connected me with website managed by their mom where I could read their story and daily challenges.  I quickly learned that there were more children in the family and they all struggled with similar medical disorders that have tremendous impact on the brain and basic function.  I sat at my computer for nearly 3 hours, tears streaming down my face as I read these blog entries, over and over, trying to make sense of it all, and feeling so insignificant.  I sat and I prayed, and I looked at my two perfect little girls and I cried and it didn’t seem fair.  This poor mother struggling with all of her children, why was I blessed with such an “easy” route??  

I looked through the pictures and I thought about these sweet children especially these pre-teen girls who had to shave their heads for their brain surgeries.  I thought about myself as a pre-teen girl and how devastating that would have been for me.  I thought about myself now, how much vanity is tied up in my hair; how much time is spent fussing over it in the mirror, how much money is spent on expensive shampoos, conditioners and styling products, or time and money at the salon.  How much emphasis I place on fixing my girls’ hair “just right.”  I felt sick.  What vanity!  How much had I invested into something so trivial?  What kind of message was I sending to my daughters?  I thought about these girls, and I wanted to love them.  These girls didn’t know me.  They’d never heard my name.  They probably didn’t even see me across that dark youth room several months ago.  I wanted to know what it was like.  I wanted to feel the vulnerability of not having the superficiality of a pretty head of hair to rely on.  I wanted to shave my head. 

I struggled with this thought.  I was fighting my own insecurities.  I wanted to shave my head but I was fearful of what that would mean.  I was fearful of how I’d be responded to.  I was fearful of how my husband would respond to me.  How would I explain that I wanted to completely alter my appearance for complete strangers?  I dropped hints at the idea.  I wanted to see how people would respond.  Sitting at the dinner table one evening with my family and best friend, I said, “I think I’m going to shave my head.”  I was met with overwhelming opposition.  I didn’t know how to explain to them WHY I wanted to do it.  My husband pleaded with me, not to shave my head, and so I didn’t…

Two weeks later—more vanity.  On a whim, my husband and I decided to dye my hair.  I wanted something different, he wanted to see how I’d look with dark locks.  When we were finished with our evening experiment, my bathroom was a speckled mess and I was devastated.  What was supposed to be brown came out jet black.  I became obsessed with trying to fix it.  I spent hours staring in the mirror, trying to figure if it was better straight, maybe if I twisted it this way, or fixed my makeup that way…ugh, I’m just going to re-dye it.  So I went and bought more hair dye.  My mom and I spent another 2 hours trying to dye it, and style it, my recently assaulted scalp was burning from all of the chemicals, and the result was exactly the same.  At this point I was obsessed, and then in a moment it all became crystal clear.  You are more than hair.  These girls are more than hair.  So much time, energy, money and emotion has been wasted over something so superficial—cut it off.  I said it, and everyone gasped.  At that point it no longer mattered.  I knew why I had to do it.  It wasn’t because of the hair dye, it wasn’t because of anything but standing up and affirming within myself that my value is more than my appearance.  

As Alex left to pick Michaela up from school and Emily was contentedly playing with dinosaurs in her room, I parted my hair into 4 pony tails and I lifted the scissors to it.  My heart was racing as contemplated, not doing it, but then I made the first cut and the second, and the third, and the fourth.  I stood there with a mess of odd lengthed hairs all over my head and then I picked up the clippers.  There was no going back.  I started to shave, and I started to cry.  I cried because all at once I knew what it felt like to no longer feel like a girl and I knew what these two girls felt.  As I stepped from the bathroom with a bag full of my hair, my beautiful 3 year old daughter looked up at me and started to cry.  Through sobs, she told me to “put your hair back on mommy, you look like a boy!” I knew I made the right decision.  I’d been teaching her all wrong!

When Alex got home, he was upset.  Michaela didn’t say a word.  At dinner, he wouldn’t look at me.  He didn’t kiss me, or hold me as we went to sleep that night.  He said, “At least you still have a pretty face.”  He didn’t understand why I made the decision, and I didn’t know how to tell him.  The next morning, at breakfast, Michaela still hadn’t commented on my hair.  Knowing that I was about to take her to school and be seen by all of her friends, I wanted to be sensitive of my child’s feelings.  I asked her what she thought about my hair and if she was ok with her friends seeing me without any hair, and immediately she started to sob.  “No, mommy, it looks weird, will you PLEASE wear a hat when you take me to school?!”  I too had been teaching her all wrong.

The next few days I was frequently asked if I was crazy, or I “pulled a Brittany” no one knew the real reason.  I didn’t think that they’d understand how strangers had such an impact on my heart, and why I’d shave my head for a family who had never seen me and didn’t even know my name.  The response was mostly positive.  “Well, you have a good head shape for it”  “I’m surprised, you still look very feminine”  “Wow, you’re brave.”  When it came out on Facebook, I finally revealed the real reason, or as best as I could in a few words of a status.  I was overwhelmed with praise and encouragement and positive words and thoughts, “likes” and gratitude.  I met the family virtually.  They gave me such positive reinforcement.  They wrote kind words about me and praised me for what I’d done.  I became the “talk” of the web, and all of a sudden I felt like it was all wrong.  I didn’t do it for fame, I didn’t do it for attention, or praise.  I did it because of a deep conviction.  

I had been so afraid of how everyone would respond to me that I felt like I had to be honest about my motives.  I thought that maybe if they knew why I did it, they wouldn’t think I was crazy, they could look past the glare coming off of my scalp—and most could.  The truth is though, this society is superficial.  I get stared at everywhere I go.  And even though there is no way I could ever understand the physical pain that these children deal with daily, I think I’ve had a glimpse at the emotional pain, because the truth is, people don’t relate to me the same way, and no matter how much it is said that people support me, or are proud of me, I’m still the “freak” in the room—and for them, I’m ok with that.

Weight loss: The Good, The Bad and The UGLY

First off I want to preface this by saying, this gets a little personal. If you're squeemish, or a man, you probably want to stop reading, but if you choose to continue, know that I warned you and I certainly do NOT want to hear about your reactions to this post outside of the interwebs. K, Thanks!

I write a lot about weight loss, and honestly what I write is far less than how much I think about it. It's a consuming mentality actually. At any given moment if you could hear my thoughts you would likely be overwhelmed by calorie calculations, meal planning, assessing physical capabilities for my next workout, planning my next workout, thinking about what the scale said this morning, wondering what the scale will say tomorrow morning, thinking horrible thoughts about the pooch that still remains around my mid-section, admiring the muscle definition of my arms in any reflective surface, etc. The fact is I'm obsessed, and I admit it.

The Good

By and large, I am very proud of what I've accomplished thus far with my weight loss journey. I can certainly attest to all of the positive attributes of weight loss, increased energy, better attitude, lower cholesterol (not that it was bad, I mean come on I'm 26!), better posture, sleeping better, more confidence, etc. It certainly is way more fun to shop now, and I can wear heels all day without feeling like I need to cut my feet off. I mean have you really ever thought about trying to balance a truck on a tin can?! That's about the same concept when I used to try to wear heels. Sure there's tons of attention, my husband is way more into me, I get a lot of compliments, and most of the time I feel pretty good about myself. But this is only one part of the equation.

The Bad

The fact of the matter is that weight loss isn't all glamorous. It takes a lot of hard work, a lot of time spent gross and sweaty and exhausted from pushing your body to it's physical limits. It means that sometimes you have to look across the table and see your spouse dining on a delicious prosciutto ravioli in a rich cream sauce with a side car of crusty Italian bread with real sweet cream butter, while you send back your tilapia and steamed broccoli, because it's salted or dripping with oil and you ordered it dry. It means that sometimes, it's better to just dine at home, because the thought of not knowing if your meal was prepared as you requested is overwhelming. The process means your probably going to stink...A LOT. If it's not from sweating, and the body odor associated with physical activity, it's the by-products of a diet rich in fiber and natural foods. (Please tell me you got that and I don't have to spell it out for you).

There is a new appreciation that I've developed for the undergarment industry, though, particularly Victoria and her secrets, and the ultra padded push-up bra. You see, it seems that the first area of the body to lose weight is the chest. In other words, kiss your girls goodbye! While I never much appreciated the ultra large DD breasts that I developed during pregnancy and nursing my children, I will say that a little more than an A cup might be nice...at least a full B...please! The thing is that without the assistance of an ultra padded bra, sometimes it's hard to feel feminine. Not that it's anywhere near the same level, but I certainly have a greater sense of empathy for mastectomy patients. And then of course, there is the ugly...

THE UGLY

Do me a favor, take the shirt of a toddler and stretch it over your husband. Have him wear it for about a week, continually tugging on the fabric, so that he can make it "fit." After that week, try to put the shirt on the toddler, and watch it hang off of their small body, shapeless and over sized. This is not dissimilar to what has happened with my skin. You see when you take something meant to house about 135 lbs of bones and muscle and you stretch it to cover 275lbs of fat and then take that fat out, no matter how many squats, crunches, bicep curls or how heavy of weights you lift, it's never going to fit the 135 lb frame properly. You're encouraged to "show off your new body" but the fact is that the body is ugly, it's droopy like an old woman. I wear my pants too high to hide the sagging skin on my stomach, I only wear Bermuda shorts or swimwear with attached skirts, to hide the skin on my thighs and I've become consumed with finding products to try and re-tighten the skin, in any means possible, without resorting to surgery. And so every day, I am going for another procedure, wrapping another body part in plastic wrap, or slathering on another layer of firming gel, all in hopes that some day, I might actually have some semblance of the body I've hoped for. Instead of being 26 in an 80 year old's body. So, I wonder if I will ever be happy in the body that I have.

So, I implore you this. PLEASE, if you have even just a little bit of weight to lose, do it now. It's easier to lose a few pounds than to have to work off over 100, not to mention, there's hope for your skin to recover, and you likely won't experience quite as dramatic a loss of your girls. Do it for yourself, before it's too late.

Dancing Like a Child

I consider myself blessed that I have the fortunate opportunity to experience musical worship twice on Sunday mornings. Seeing as how the super hot worship leader also shares my bed, I get to hear the worship set, during practice and then again in the service and so do my girls. I find that often times they are the ones teaching me more about the presence of the Lord than I could ever share with them. As an adult I think that the busyness of life and the preoccupation with appearances often prevents us from fully experiencing the presence of the Lord. I've often heard it said that children need to attend church services with their parents so that they can see people worship and learn what it means. I also believe that children need to attend church services with their parents, so we can learn to stop being so uptight.

This morning, during practice the worship team was playing the song "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me and my precious little Emily, who had attentively been sitting watching her daddy practice all morning suddenly stood up and moved to the front of the room, and with arms outstretched and head thrown back, began to dance her little 2 year old dance.



Surrounded by your glory, what will my heart feel, will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still... That moment spoke volumes to my aching heart.

Wouldn't it be just like a child to dance in the presence of the Lord?! And I imagined what it will be like on that day, basking in the presence of God, arms outstretched and head thrown back, feeling His presence wash over me so completely, and I prayed for my inhibitions to be removed, so that I might worship my Savior like He deserves, with reckless abandon.