He stands in front of me in church, in the very front row, singing exuberantly.
His left hand grasps a notebook of song lyrics while his right hand waves in jubilation. His voice is loud and clear, his praise bold. And I can’t help but smile.
Tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord!
I love watching him worship. I’m mundane in comparison, holding the lyrics tightly to my ribs, losing my place now and then and growing silent as my mind wanders, tentatively striving for perfect pitch when it doesn’t.