Dance dance revolution

There's a man at church who stands in the corner of the balcony and does interpretive dance while we sing. He lifts his arms to the heavens and waves them around, as though conducting a large-scale spiritual orchestra.

The first time I saw him he cracked me up. "Do you see this guy?" I murmured to the people around me onstage. He was so conspicuous with his huge, sweeping gestures, I couldn't help but giggle. And the remarkable thing was that he was so un-self-conscious. He narrated every song with a new interpretation of movement, waging rhythmic battle during the fast tunes and painting languid pictures during the slow ones. I had to give him credit for endurance; it was like watching a ninety minute aerobics class. Church-ercise, if you will.

Week after week this man turns up to dance his praise, and I've come to realize something: He's awesome. Once I got past my own self-consciousness, my own knee-jerk reaction to giggle at something a little bit different, I realized how much joy this man is putting into his dance. He hears the music and transforms it into something to see. The man dances with abandon. And as I watch him, I feel a little bubble of happiness swelling in my chest. His joy is feeding my own.

So go on, interpretive dancer guy! Do your thing.

Actually, I think his name is Carl.

Go on, Carl!