I went to a teen's dance recital this evening. Many groups performed, quite a few individuals danced solo, and the pride and appreciation of parents and friends was apparent. The ladies worked diligently at their craft and showed tremendous growth and skill this night.
Still, something else stuck with me. To most, it was a passing moment that evoked a gentle smile or a mild laugh. Between dance routines, a slight, blond-haired boy of three or four came to the gym floor. The Vallivue High School band was playing intermittent music to pass the break, and the boy used the music to mimic the moves he had seen many of the young women execute minutes earlier. He twirled and hopped and added his own take. As he did all this, the crowd murmured about his cuteness, and with dozens of eyes on him, the boy took little notice. He danced away. The boy's eyes were fixed on only one person: His father.
In all his contortions and twists, a smile continued on the blond-haired boy's tender face, and a constant glance into the bleachers was met with consistent approval from his daddy's gaze. He did not care about the audience's approval or the snippet of fame he was experiencing; he only wanted his father's love.
We should all be set on the gaze of our Father. Where are our eyes fixed as we dance?
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