She pushed my hand away twice before I felt it tugging on my sleeve.
She wrapped my arm around herself then.
She crumpled the song sheet, brows furrowed and hand clenched in concentration.
She whispered not long after, asking more than once to take the bulletin home.
She came in, quiet without words.
She lifted her hands in the Doxology.
She squirmed in the seat, feet all over the chairs and floor and in the air.
And then she stopped squirming, and she looked up at me as we sang:
Your plans are still to prosper, You have not forgotten us.
You're faithful forever, perfect in love; You are sovereign over us.
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