My husband and I quite resemble the label "Backrow Baptist." The back corner is by far our preferred place to sit. This morning, however, we arrived at church later than usual. I cringed as I crept further and further up the aisle looking for open seats on the end. {I despise crawling over people to get to the middle seats--yes, even more than sitting in the front.} At about Row 5, we were able to slip into empty seats.
As the music started, my son stood up on tiptoes to look over the row of chairs in front of us. His eyes lit up as he watched the church's small orchestra at the front. Sitting in the back, he'd never been able to see them before! He was absolutely in awe, soaking it all in.
A few songs later, a group of children gathered on stage to sing the morning's special. He turned to me with wide eyes and exclaimed, "Them SINGING!" He watched a bit longer then pivoted and declared, "Me go sing too!" while scooting off the edge of his chair. Thankfully I was able to talk him down before he dashed on stage to join their chorus. However, at the end of service, when his time to go up in front of the congregation had not yet come--and indeed, his daddy was explaining that he would need to be older before that time came--there was a fat, quivering lip, shaking chin, and many tears spilling.
Taking in this sorrowful face and recalling the exciting passion he exhibited during the service, I was filled with pride and wonder at his courageous desire to clamber upon stage with children he's never met to sing before an entire sanctuary full of people he doesn't know. Sometimes I wish for such boldness in myself and I pray the world doesn't snatch it from him.
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