This morning, at church, it was not my turn to be up on stage. What I did, however, was sit in the very front row—watching my fellow praise-team members—and worship my buns off.
How did I do that? I didn’t raise my hands. I didn’t clap. (I’m more reserved.) But I sang my heart out (mostly backup vocals) and did a lot of crying. 
The song that got me the most was “What a Beautiful Name,” especially because it was sung so beautifully by my young friend, Megan: She’s nineteen years old with a heart full for Jesus.
I’m singing and crying, and here comes this girl (a few minutes late) who walks in and stands two places down from me, off to my right. I knew who she was instantly. I had seen her before from my perch up on the stage in front of my keyboard. She literally jumps up and down during every song, full of joy. I love to watch her out of the corner of my eye, since I’m supposed to be reading my music. 
She is simply on fire. Praising in her own, unique way.
This morning, I had the privilege of standing right next to her.
So, Megan is singing, this woman is jumping, and I’m crying. And we’re all worshipping the same God.
It doesn’t get any better than that.
