I will be happy I'm with You. I looked at Carol, and I looked at the words, and I wondered if I would be able to sing them in her situation. The second time through the song, when it was time to join in, her eyes lowered, her head hung low, and her lips did not move. The group began a third time, thinking they were perfecting a recording, not realizing they were helping to mend frayed faith and tattered trust. This time, Carol's mouth moved, and tears flowed.
Worship reaches deep, dark places and opens heavy locks on broken hearts.
Relentlessly, we sang the testament of trust again. Carol's eyes closed, her head lifted, and she sang. Not joyfully as some who had never tasted tragedy were singing, but resolutely. I smiled at Carol and at God, then looked around and thought of all the disappointed believers among us. One had just retrieved his son from a psychiatric hospital.