Sometimes a Choice

Front row, ground level.

Around me, behind me, above me,

one thousand of my peers

do just what I do:

stand, listen, sing.

On my right,

my left,

two girls in their second year.

Wonders whose smile brightens mine,

whose friendship sometimes I wonder

how I was so blessed to receive.

We’re worshipping,

here under the towering ceiling.

Lead by one man,

one piano.

Music taking us right into the presence of God.

I suppose.

I don’t feel exceptionally worshipful,

I find myself telling God.

Less a prayer and more an observation,

a casual conversation.

But like most conversations,

there’s a voice back,

and I feel my mind pause, steady, as I consider.

It’s sometimes more of a choice.

Because I’ve had scant time to sit, to ponder,

to find myself in awe lately,

and life is a rolling landscape,

I’m scrambling to stay upright,

and yes, there have been few moments to pause,

to feel worshipful.

But there is always a choice.

Because God is always the good and the grace

and the truth and the joy

and the strength

that I’ve known Him to be in my most

peaceful, reverent of moments.

This I know.

So I choose.

And I sing.

And I do worship.

Because it’s all true, what we say,

what we sing.



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