The other day Lidia and I went to a local primary school’s final service before the summer.  It was put on by the P7’s (the oldest class in primary school); we knew most of the faces from doing Breakfast Clubs there for the last three years.

I was over the top with pride and excitement for the great show they put on.  The room was filled with parents and friends; dads who left every so often for a smoke, people answering phone calls, slight distractions—even when the students were telling us about wind turbines and beating on their African drums (amazing performance!).

But---there was a holy moment. 

Four girls gathered on “stage.”  The teacher clicked “play” on the CD player.  And the four girls began their Irish dancing routine right there on the gym floor.  The once-preoccupied crowd fixed their eyes on the girls.  Someone started clapping in beat, and soon all were joined in. 

It was like everyone thought at once, “Now this is something I can be interested in.  I wasn’t too into wind turbines and hearing about netball tournaments…but song and dance is apart of who we are.” 

I had goosebumps up and down my arms.  I felt I saw a glimpse into the heartbeat of this road I live on.  I’ve been seeking to find their culture, but have not come up with anything really concrete.  Irish dancing—who knew?

The revival in Belfast in the 1800’s started with the people group, “children.” 

We can’t over-estimate how much children know and can teach us about the Kingdom of Love.

Another note about Belfast:  I was driving home from church yesterday, and the streets of the city are peppered with broken umbrellas.  This is one gusty summer!