sing on, sing on
My brother's voice was one of 300, earnest and focused so the praise rang powerful, and stilled our hearts but I wasn't riveted until they took the stage some in wheelchairs, some shuffling and fidgety, broken bodies and broken minds. in between, the 'helpers', perhaps the only ones who could really sing but the helpers were not the serious ones, oh no those who made the less beautiful noises were much more serious, earnest, eager and in all this beautifulness there was a lady in one of the wheelchairs not much hair, a bright pink bow perhaps a little frightened and when the spotlights fired up she winced cowering under so much glory it hurts our eyes, you see and my heart sank as she covered her face with her arm if I could, I would have said "don't! you're going to miss out on so much!" ah, but I know the feeling it's just too much I am broken too I just can't handle glory like an Israelite cowering at the shining face