An Easy Yes on Sundays

She bops from toe to toe, 
hairbands and bows no match for her 
silky blonde bob 
Always combed with one foot out the door on Sundays. 

She twirls and tips, 
Her skirt expands with her delight. 
Fingers brush the pew for balance 
as the organ hums on Sundays. 

Her ears perk up as music swells, 
Crayons sit abandoned. 
"Mama, can I dance?" 
Shifting, wiggling on the padded seat on Sundays. 

I shift too, considering the souls 
behind and before me, 
not looking to offend. 
David danced before the Lord with all his might. Why not her? 

Only three, her body isn't made for 
sitting still and straight, her mind 
Must reach too far 
to grasp the words she hears on Sundays. And yet, she knows the Truth. 

I doubt. Shouldn't I be training her to 
sit and listen, 
look and learn 
and not 
Disrupt? 

But fear and doubt have no place here. 
It's an easy yes on Sundays. 

As she pirouettes and pivots by the pew 
her heart is stirred and swells, her mind is thrilled.
She knows her Lord 
by the praises that we sing to Him on Sundays. 

Yes, the Spirit lives in her 
reckless abandon as she twirls 
in the aisle that I walked down to meet my groom.
There's a twinkle in her eye when she
speaks about her Jesus and a peace
that overcomes her when we pray, 
"Jesus, Savior, wash away.” 

There’s a warmness in her touch, 
A peace and rest she can’t explain 
curled up during the sermon 
In my arms on Sundays. 

And so she dances on, and I pray it never stops.
That as her limbs grow long and strong she
Sings and dances on rooftops. 
I pray for faith like hers on Sundays.