The older kids arrive first in the form of the choir.  They're led through a series of practice songs to warm them up for leading the songs when the other students arrive.  Most weeks one of the students is the worship leader, meaning that they sing a solo in one of the songs.  Given the many yawns and eye-rubbings and general shell-shocked demeanor of these kids at 8am, it's probably a mixed blessing at best.

This morning I sit in the back pew, as I usually do when I attend - which I try to every week regardless of whether I'm the designated hitter or not.  I watch the choir warm up.  The songs are familiar by now - they sing the same 4-5 songs every week.  The girl who is going to be the worship leader for the morning seems typically nervous.  She has a sweet voice, and there's that tremor of uncertainty that causes the notes to warble briefly before she decides she's singing the right verse and adds a little more oomph to her voice.  

The other students file in quietly and the singing begins.  As the pianist begins to play, there's some sort of attempted communication from the worship leader, but I can't tell what it is.  Some consternation or uncertainty.  The piano keeps playing, and the girl has little choice but to begin singing.  

But it's clear that something isn't quite right.  As the song goes on, there's a growing glinting in her eyes that appear to be tears welling up, though I can't tell why.  Her singing is fine, and she's keeping a brave face.  But as the song goes on, the tears begin to wash trails down her cheeks.  By the end of the song, she's kept her overall composure, but the tears are really falling.  She rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands to try and clear them.  But her face is flushed and the tears show no sign of stopping.  The pianist transitions into the next song and the children begin singing.  

I hear the doors open behind me and a woman walks briskly in and sits a few rows up from me behind one of the teachers, leaning over to whisper something back and forth.  The new arrival gasps and looks up.  The girl's eyes are glued to the woman, a look of pleading on her face, the tears pouring out again.  The woman who just arrived stands up quickly.  Already in tears herself she leaves as quickly as she arrived.  I see the principal get up from across the sanctuary and head after her.  On stage, the girl continues to cry and try to sing the songs with the rest of the children.  There are furtive glances at her from the kids closest to her.  Why is it that tears are such a source of curiosity for us?

A moment passes, and the woman returns and sits back down.  The principal goes to speak to the pianist as the children conclude their last song.  She begins playing the first song again, and the girl, eyes still wet but tears stopped, boldly sings out the first notes of her solo.  The children sing around her as she focuses intently on the pianist for the cues that lead her through the song.  Towards the end, she ventures a look toward her mother.  Everything is ok.  

It's a powerful reminder to me of how things that seem so little and simple can be so important and meaningful to the children in our lives.  A promise postponed or missed can be devastating.  A promise kept can be so joyful.