“We worship You. We lift You up. We extol You. We magnify Your name.” She shifted. She fought. She crumbled. She gave way to… tears. Again. The congregation sang out with full sky-parting force, and she slumped down with full earth-bound grief. Another Sunday.

How can I worship, how can I join the exclamation when my heart is splintered? Why, in these moments, do I feel especially alone, especially aware of Bill’s absence?

She digs for a tissue before the scene gets messy. Then he slips his coffee in her hands. It’s his offer of comfort, her son. Then his arms hold her like a snug ace bandage. They press back against the ache. They immobilize the break. She lifts her head a bit. She’ll be OK.

She’ll be Ok because she is committed to this walk. The only road. The only option. The only way to the other side is trust. So I will worship through tears, take a sip of coffee and trust Jesus. Joy comes one of these Mondays.