I sit here on my pew saving seats for my teenagers who may be here for this special conference just before it starts.
The women's choir is warming up and I see the alto on the front row getting choked up, unable to get the words
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"Praise the Lord of small broken things, who comforts our sorrows and washes our feet...
Praise the Lord of the faint and afraid...
He sees His dear children through mercy-filled eyes..."
She is wearing a silky dark green shirt and is holding her head tilted so that her long bangs fall over her eyes and hide her emotion.
But I see her. I see that there may be cracks in her eyes. Maybe in her heart.
We are the small things, yet grand. We are nothing, yet can have everything.
And so I pray to be washed and made clean so that when I see Him I will be ready. And He will see me.