shine
When I walk in the room, this is the other-worldly bit of heaven I see: a room clogged with dancing royalty, crowns throbbing, faces glittered with joy. It’s like throwing open a chest full of God’s glory and looking inside: Confetti spins, pouring from the ceiling, from cannons beside the stage, where the word “SHINE” beams like a charge. And they do. They gleam. It’s as though light pours from their smiles, their shiny eyes, bouncing over sequins and crowns and cufflinks. Hundreds of exceptional teenagers spin and bend and Elaine Benes dance around the room, wild freedom propelling them. And I can’t help but think: This is what it’s like in a place where everyone’s accepted and everyone’s equal and everyone’s just loved.
We stand on risers at the side of the room, parents searching the treasure for our own jewel. And then for a moment, the music stops. Tim Tebow’s face appears on a big screen at the front of the room, and the kids cheer madly. Whatever their challenges may be, they know authentic kindness when they see it. “You are loved. You are important. You are valuable,” Mr. Tebow says. “We want you to know that.” And then I can’t breathe for the river rising in my throat, as I scan that rich bit of the Kingdom to see if my baby’s paying attention. How often have I prayed that nothing would ever dull her light? There. Right there at the back of the room. Her cheeks glitter. She reaches up to steady the crown on her head as she listens.
When we arrived at Night to Shine, a parking lot attendant asked if we were dropping someone off at the red carpet. They waved us into a line of cars crawling toward the entrance where a crowd of paparazzi waited, flashing cameras and peering to see who would get out when the car doors were opened, cheering as our children-turned-celebrities walked through the doors. Maybe just tonight, they feel recognized, known, anticipated, invited, appreciated. I watch the kids, those smiles, and the living water swells. Don’t you know this is how it will be? When the people of God come home? I can almost hear the crowd of witnesses stirring in anticipation, can almost see the way they bend their light-built bodies to see. I think maybe, the heavenly halls dance, that the royal children of the resurrected king spin wildly in worship in front of the beaming smile of God. SHINE. Just shine, because you are loved and important and valuable and mine.
My daughter needs to hear this, I’m thinking, standing there with my clogged mama throat, clutching Kevin’s arm. The minute we arrived, I told him this whole thing would shatter me good, that the love of it would just pull me apart. A good breaking builds and strengthens and heals my blind eyes, and I know I’m looking on the Kingdom because it belongs to such as these. And that’s when I know this is what our togetherness is supposed to be: everyone accepted and everyone equal and everyone just loved, and all of us saying these true, strong things to each other: “You are loved. You are important. You are valuable. We want you to know that.” What if we let worship just shatter us good? Me, I think I’ll Elaine Benes before the throne of God one day for joy, for victory, for what God has done for love. I think I’ll laugh the way these kids do, throwing their heads back, sliding their arms around each other’s shoulders.
When Tim Tebow’s message ends, the music returns in earnest and with it, their happy dancing. The lights go down in that room, full and bobbing royal, pulsing, throbbing with the strobes. And I swallow hard and clutch Kevin’s arm and walk away, thinking it really couldn’t be brighter in there.
