I’m the weirdo in my little family. I’m the one who insists we venture to the very front of our large suburban church so I can feel more a part of the worship. I’m the one who juts hands into the air, who will stand up when no one stands (in the entire church) because I can’t help but stand to worship the Lord. I probably embarrass my family.
But this morning while I was singing, I opened my eyes for a moment to see my daughter Julia’s hands jutting toward the heavens, worshiping God in abandon. Throughout her time in worship, she seemed deeply engaged, alive.
And suddenly I didn’t feel so alone. And I felt deeply humbled and joyful. My little girl is growing into a worshiper.
(Now this is not to say those who don’t raise their hands aren’t worshiping. Au contraire! I know everyone’s different. But it tickled me to see my daughter catch a whiff of the abandon I’d experienced during the musical portion of worship.)