Faceless Worship

The door is spruce green and worn looking. I almost recognize it from somewhere. Almost. I push it open hesitantly and peer into what I expect to be the dark and gloomy inside of such an ancient-looking church.

But no. There is blue velvet in the pews. The pews are filled with angels. Their wings flutter and flap, a soft white haze is seeping from them. The church glows. It glows with the light of these magnificent, strange angels. I walk down the aisle and pick up a hymn book. No one notices, perhaps because they have no face, just mouths. They simply continue to sing.

I look at the little angel’s hymn book who is standing next to me with her flaxen curls. It’s Amazing Grace. It’s the song that played on the guitar.

It’s the song that someone used to play for me. I almost recognize it from somewhere. Almost.


“Come back to me baby,” Hannah’s father whispers. He plays the guitar with desperation. His voice cracks as he sings.


The little angel smiles at me as I begin to sing along.

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