When Hosannas Turn Silent
I walked through the train station on Wednesday like I was in a fog. Everything seemed muted and fuzzy and I noticed an acute absence of that joy, that wild praise that had driven my steps earlier in the week. That bursting-with-love heart I had carried had been replaced with the sad bruised one. Even breathing hurt.
Thank You, Kim.
I was 13 years old and the youth pastor said they needed another keyboard player, so I came to learn what was up. The older, much cooler girl who played keyboard and wore cool makeup was showing me the ropes. She was good. Like, really really good. She had me play a couple songs. I was awful. Like, really really awful.