(Author's note: I'm typing this on my phone on the plane home from Seattle. The lady beside me is crowding my "space" so I can't get my computer out.)
Yesterday was a full day. My band downhere played 3 church services and then a concert - all of which went really great but we were definitely worn out by the end.
As we started playing the 3rd service I noticed a mother with 2 Down syndrome boys sitting in the front row (last night I mistakenly Twittered that it was a girl - I'm still healing up from my eye surgery, okay??). Well, one of them was sitting - the other was standing, rocking back and forth, singing along at the top of his lungs.
Correction: he was singing - just not along, and definitely not on key. When everyone else would pause to take a break in the middle of a phrase, he would keep on singing - you couldn't miss it. It was rather distracting, really - or at least, I could see how it would be distracting to those around him.
And that's when I began to weep - right at the end of one song and into the next (which I had to start - it was "Jesus Paid It All", so I kind of hoped if anyone noticed me crying they would think I was just super thankful that night for Jesus' having paid it all!). I was struck with this sudden realization:
One day that could/will be my son.
One day my son will be the one that annoys and distracts people as he worships the One who created him perfectly. One day my son will be the one who will stand in the front row and dance and sing unabashedly before an audience of One. One day my son will teach me what genuine worship is all about.
Last night I cried tears of sadness, joy, and envy all at the same time. Sad that there will be people who will not be able to appreciate the beauty of a scene like I saw last night (and sad that I caught myself being one of those people); joyful at the thought of seeing Liam worship with his whole being without giving a second thought to what anyone else thinks; envious of the special connection he will have with his Maker.
I had a revelation in Seattle, and I don't think I'm going to get over it.