I know I should post today

and I am so not in the mood to write anything, but I've been working on not doing what I want to do. It's a spiritual exercise. Anything I want to do that isn't the best? Not doing it.

I want to sit on my butt and roam around Facebook or Plurk, catch up on the blog posts, enjoy a popcorn feeding frenzy and shut off my brain awhile. That's not the best way to spend the Sunday.

So instead I will share a strange little moment from Church with you. We've got our little choir. Those who follow the blog regularly know that I'm the director and it's made up of two families and sometimes (well, just the once, actually) my sister and her husband. We sit in the back, sing a capella, and wrestle with wee Martins. We have some fine musicians and excellent singers amongst us and every once in awhile we really nail a song. We sound like a choir not sitting in the back trying to sing around the slings and shoelaces of outraged children. Sometimes we sound heavenly.

Today was the day. We had a song end in the wrong spot of the Liturgy, so we chanted "O Radiant Light, O Son Divine." Chant is what we do best when we do our best. Today we managed it. As the beautiful song, beautifully rendered, ended, my husband and I looked across the aisle at the same moment and saw what God had done. Staring at us was a woman, wiping her eyes and crying.

Her heart was opened wide by the song. I don't know how I knew it and how my husband knew it, but we knew. He nodded his head at me and, without thinking it through, I went and sat next to her. (I asked first.)

She scootched. We sat. No big deal. She cried a little. I cried a little, too. At the Sign of Peace I had to go back to the choir pew for the logistics of being in position for Communion and the Communion Hymn. When I went to shake her hand to say, "Peace be with you," we hugged instead and she whispered, "Thank you!" in my ear.

I don't know, exactly, what happened there. I didn't even catch her name, but I'm glad of it, whatever it was.

And now that my 20 minutes of me time is up and I spent it with you. We sat. You read. No big deal. I hope something happened here, too.