Linda Brooks Davis

Doin’ the Happy-Dance

gourd-474219_1280Giving thanks sometimes means I break out in a happy-dance.

My recent happy-dance commenced when my husband came inside holding a UPS delivery and wearing a smile.

My happy-dance box_IMG_3950
My happy-dance commenced with a plain box.

The Calling of Ella McFarland had arrived! 

I cleared a space on the kitchen counter.

He set down the box and took out his pocketknife.

“Wait! Let me get a picture!”

“Of the box?” Barely veiled incredulity on his part.

“Of course.” Duh.

The happy-dance rhythm picked up.

And then the opening … and the drum roll!

“Stop! I need another picture!”

“What?” Unveiled incredulity this time.

“Don’t you know it’s a process?” Duh.

He scratched his head and complied.

Cause for the Happy-Dance_IMG_3952
Cause for the Happy-Dance

Then my “Oh … how beautiful … I’m going to cry.” 

He humphed. Flipped pages. Umm-ed. And nodded.

“Take another picture.”

“Of …?” He eyed my bedhead and p.j.s. 

Happy-Dance Time_IMG_3956
Happy-Dance Time!

“Just my hands. Holding a book.” 

Relief showing, he followed instructions and then, “I’m going to the shop.”

My Happy-Dance commenced when The Calling of Ella McFarland arrived
My favorite coffee mug watched over the telling of Ella’s story: THE CALLING OF ELLA MCFARLAND

Which was my cue to spread out the books and start snapping photos. Forget breakfast. 

Meanwhile, I’m doin’ my happy dance! And thanking God.

P.S. I can’t count the hours my sweet husband devoted to preparing meals, doing dishes, washing and drying clothes, shopping, running errands, protecting my space, listening, enduring my occasional wails, encouraging, praying, and even shedding tears over some lines as I wrote Ella’s story. Like Aaron and Hur on the mountaintop supporting Moses’ hands (Exodus 17:8-14), Al held me up when I grew weary.

You turned my wailing into dancing … Psalm 30:11

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