Whenever I sit in church and look out at all the people in the pews surrounding me, I can’t help but swell with emotion. My voice catches in my throat as I sing, my eyes water. I think about how vulnerable we all are here, admitting that we’re all broken. I see others wipe tears during worship, or bow their head in prayer, and I remember that every person has a story, a struggle, a challenge, a cross to bear. A room full of people who show up asking for help to be better and help to love others better. When I look around, I remember that this person is battling cancer, or this person’s son is struggling with depression, or that person just lost his spouse. Some of us are battling ourselves, wrestling with our faults, hoping to be loved anyway. As the choir’s voices echo against the towering walls, the sanctuary feels warmer. The building soaks up our worries, our trials, our tribulations, lifting it from our shoulders. Our load is suddenly a little lighter. And soon we are able to piece each other back together again.
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