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By Col. Lewis Millett

Col. Millett is a Medal of Honor recipient. Read about him here.

I have fought when others feared to serve. I have gone where others failed to go.
I’ve lost friends in war and strife, Who valued Duty more than love of life.

SharperIron is looking for volunteers to blog several events of importance to Fundamentalists this summer and fall.

My daughter was born with rhythm. From the time she could hold her head up, she would sway, bop, and wave her arms to anything remotely musical. Jackhammer? You bet. The wum-wum-wum of the ceiling fan? Sure. Someone clicking a pen? Yep, that too. It is hilarious to be at a restaurant and look over to see your baby boogying to the beat of a gal clanking her spoon on a bowl as she refills the mashed potatoes at the buffet. As a matter of fact, Kate seems to have an archive of tunes in her mind that she simply nods her head to from time to time.

This morning I had some celtic hymns playing, and Kate was twirling happily, gleefully around the family room. Made me wonder: when was the last time I felt like doing that? Now, I am not an advocate for dancing in church worship services, or even in public for that matter. But I think what was filling Kate’s heart as she frolicked around my computer desk was simply pure joy. “My tummy is full; Mama loves me; I slept well; this music makes me feel happy…life is good.” Perhaps what David felt as he danced before the ark of God—only on baby scale: exult in God’s goodness, His provision, His greatness, His care, His love—and that He loves me.