< Back

Worship

All the crosses in your house that smelled like spices and holiness made it hard not to church you. The wooden chairs we’d sit on and the Latin from your lips as we cooked together and painted each other in the best ways we could imagine are hard to forget. Piano music rang throughout the halls of your small, suburban corner home as you played notes that would bring tears to the eyes of anyone’s proud mother. But since you’ve been gone it’s been hard for me to remember that God doesn’t look like a college student.

Worship

All the crosses in your house that smelled like spices and holiness made it hard not to church you. The wooden chairs we’d sit on and the...