Today in church, our choir was singing an exciting anthem, accompanied by our small orchestra and the organ.
Suddenly, a boy about age seven—maybe eight—came bounding through the choir loft, down some steps and straight to the organist. He had a box of crayons in one hand, and a coloring book of flying pages in another. The organist never saw him. He hugged her from behind. Wildly startled, she nearly raptured herself.
But when she saw him, she settled down and kept on playing. She leaned over and said something to him. With a bright, broad smile, he scrambled up onto her bench, snuggled beside her and sighed a sigh of victory and contentment.
Grandmother and grandson up at the organ. It’s the prettiest picture I’ve ever seen in a church.
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