Barefoot Christian Growth and Fellowship

Sand's between our toes as we play at the park. It's early--cool yet-- to be barefoot, but still . . . .
We reach for the skies with feet as we swing. The girls' hair is tangled from the wind. Lukas dangles from the top of the monkey bars.
Ern and I laugh and joke and enjoy these gifts. This park in the middle of an urban neighborhood is just the perfect solace on this weekday evening here at the end of March.
It's across from a church.
Wouldn't it be fun to have a church service here at this park? Could we sing, could we listen, could we worship while we played? It probably would be difficult and for a number of reasons wouldn't be a good choice for all such meetings.
But in the movement of arms and legs, the throbbing life of it, God speaks of who we are, who we can be in Him, with no pretenses.
There's something to be said for church picnics, for meeting together out of doors, the way it strips down walls and barriers, brings the child in each of us to the forefront.
When we relax, focus less on the show we intend to make, and humbly love and learn, we grow. When our kids fight and we must teach and guide, when we feel lonely but make an effort toward someone else who seems ostracized, our spiritual muscles get exercise and like physical muscles, throb with life. His Life and not ours. In our church families, nuclear families, and with the world--the people--around us, there's something to be said for bare feet stretching toward the sky.