At 5 minutes to 5, I was near tears. M. and K. wrapped up rehearsal with the string quartet and I turned to L. saying, “I really don’t know if I can make it through tonight. One more song about love and I’m going to lose it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s a big subject. Touchy.”
I wanted someone to hold my hand. Where were you?
L. scrunched her face as we sat in the front row of the sanctuary. “I do not feel cute in my clothes. I never feel good about what I’m wearing.”
“Me neither. But you look cute. You always look so nice. I got this shirt I’m wearing at TJ Maxx yesterday for 10 bucks; it’s not breathable.”
“Are you hot?”
“No. I just feel like I stink.” I hoped the drummer didn’t just hear that. He was sitting a few seats down.
“Don’t worry. I don’t smell anything. I need a haircut.”
“Oh my. So do I. I was literally just thinking that in the bathroom. And earlier, my sister told me to wear my hair down. She said it was looking good, but I can hardly stand it. My ends are all torn up.”
“You look good. We always try so hard, don’t we?”
“What a funny day.”
L. looked back and agreed. “Have fun singing tonight, okay?”
“Thanks.”
At 5 pm, I was ready. My crisis was averted and I did not cry whilst leading worship and not holding your hand. We will see what tomorrow brings, but I hope to be engulfed in the truth that I have an even bigger hand holding my entire being.
Naphtalia 
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