The third part of the “Toronto Trilogy”
…raising her hands above her creamy coffee-toned skin and tight, dark curls.
…closing her eyes and singing along with the praise song.
…leaning against the sprightly, accountant-type, balding husband of hers.
…joining our motley choir, grabbing a song folder.
…thanking us and the God who sent courage and beauty through amateur song.
…with us all evening, his dark hair and eyes sparkling.
…arms folded around her ample middle.
…tears rolling down her dark cheeks.
…not meeting anyone’s eye, but I believe there’s a healing happening in her soul.
…nodding his slightly shaggy head, singing along.
…using his football broad shoulders and quiet words to discourage the drunks who would interrupt us.
…listening quietly for a while.
…sitting reclined in her chair that her daddy holds.
…her eyes sparkle into my mine, the only motion in her paralyzed body.
…soaking up the song, the God-love in my smile.
…singing with all my body and soul, raising my voice, closing my eyes to all distractions.
…accepting the healing that comes when I return to Him Who is most important.
…bowing my head and thanking God for answering my prayer, that this night would be about Him getting glory and worship.
In the weary noise and merry-go-round of never answered questions,
The soul of man can only find its destiny in worship
And its wholeness in Christ.