Mom played the piano in church Sundays. The choir would always swell to heart-bursting heights as her hands strode up and down the keys in perfect time. There were a lot of chords to be struck, and a rugged old bass line to hold it all up. God bent down to listen. It was very powerful.
We kids had to behave, meantime, and it was amazing how sharp an eye she could keep on us. She’d park us in the front row and make sure we were following along in the hymnal and actually singing. She also checked to be sure our eyes were shut during prayer (of course they weren’t).
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