Thinking back, I recognize some moments I know as holy that occurred in my past life. I didn’t have a name for them, but they were golden, just the same. Holy moments come often to me now; following one after the other from the time my mind becomes aware right before waking until my eyes slam shut as I lose myself to sleep.
I’ve had so many holy moments the past four-and-a-half years, I’ve lost count. This Sunday, last, I experienced a moment so sacred, I could barely breathe.
I listened to words that I had written… strung together, actually… performed publically. The place was church. The words were a prayer. The prayer was broken into parts, read by three different women, one of which was my niece. We, the congregation, responded at the end of each reading, and then sang a further response.
They didn’t sound like my words, though I recognized them. The delivery was so beautifully directed and enacted. The voices were so sincere and rich. The background music was so poignant. What a holy moment.
I just wish I had a way to tell you about it.