It was a dreary day. I had the flu. Doug, my husband, went to work. Melody, our daughter left for school. I flopped on the couch in the living room, still in my fluffy pink housecoat, while Carson, our 4 year-old, played nearby.
After a while, Carson disappeared upstairs. To get another toy I thought. A few minutes later he re-appeared in the living room. He had changed from his footed pajamas into his church clothes – a navy pin-striped suit. His white shirt un-tucked, with a serious expression, he asked –
“Mom, would you like to dance?”
Dancing was the last thing I felt like doing. But, my young son had gone to a lot of trouble to make me feel better. It occurred to me that this was an opportunity I couldn’t miss, no matter how feverish and sick I felt.
I dragged my shaky body off the couch. There was no music. I started to hum a song now forgotten and Carson joined in. We danced around the living room, Carson in his navy patent dress shoes, me in my scruffy pink slippers.
We made a forever memory that day, mother and son.
This past Saturday, we made another memory. We danced together at Carson’s wedding. This time to Josh Groban’s, You Raise Me Up.
There’s “a time to mourn and a time to dance,” Solomon wrote. We need wisdom to know the difference.