Standing on Tiptoes

I once knew a kid who walked on his tiptoes all the time. And I mean all the time. In fact, he did it so much, that eventually he could do nothing else. His parents had to send him to a physical therapist to stretch his muscles so he could learn to walk like the rest of us.

Which is kind of sad when you think about it. I've found that so many of the best things in life are found when I'm standing on my tiptoes - a welcome home kiss for my hubby after a long hard day of work, a hidden bag of dark chocolate Raisinets on a high kitchen shelf. As a young dancer, I spent a considerable amount of time on my toes, twirling and floating to the music, creating something that was (hopefully) beautiful to see. Even bad things can be made good by rising up a few inches, like removing those hanging cobwebs on the ceiling, or eliminating that creepy spider that always seems to be just out of reach on the wall.

These days, though, I see this as more of a spiritual exercise. I yearn to grow closer and closer to the One who created me, to hear His sweet whisper in my ear. Stretching up and reaching as high as I can is my act of worship, my posture of obedience, my expression of love. I await His presence, His word, His gift. And, as I lift myself up, standing on tiptoes, my Best Friend crosses the universe to meet me.

And that truly is something beautiful to see.