Give to the Lord the glory due His Name; bring an offering, and come before Him. Oh worship the Lord in the beauty of Holiness
I Chronicles 16:29

Melchour

She drew in a slow breath, shoulders rising and falling as though she were steadying herself against a storm only she could feel. For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. But then, as if some small ember inside her had sparked to life, she looked back at me—not with confidence, but with a quiet resolve. She gave a small nod.

I watched her step forward, each movement deliberate, as though she were willing her trembling legs to carry her. When she reached the altar, she stood there, small against the wide space, her face lit with a nervous smile—fragile, but real.

Her voice was soft, almost fragile, as it filled the sanctuary.
"Lord," she said, her words weaving through the silence, "we may have come before You unprepared... but Lord, all we want right now is... is to worship You."

The tremor in her voice was impossible to miss, but there was honesty in it—raw, unpolished. I felt my throat tighten, something in me settling, as though the simplicity of her words echoed something truer than any grand declaration could have.

She motioned to the musicians, and the first notes of the song rose—gentle, tentative at first. The congregation, scattered and waiting, began to stir, clapping in time with the beat.

"My life is in You, Lord," Anna's voice rose, steadier now. "My hope is in You, Lord. My strength is in You, Lord, is in You, is in You."

Her voice blended with the voices of the congregation as they joined her, their song filling the space. Relief stirred quietly in me, not loud or exuberant, just a quiet unspooling of breath—because she was doing it. She was stepping into the place that had been left empty, and somehow, it was enough.

"And I'll praise You with all of my life," she sang, her voice threading higher, "I'll praise You with all of my strength. With all of my life, with all of my strength. All of my hope is in You."

The air shifted then—not with force, but with a stillness that felt heavy and light all at once. It was as if the walls of the church had exhaled, and in the silence between notes, I could almost feel the weight of grace settling over the room.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the sound of worship wash over me. And when I opened them again, my gaze found her—standing there, hands lifted, her face turned upward in quiet surrender.

It wasn't perfect, not polished, not planned. But it was real. It was worship.

A small smile touched the corner of my lips, almost involuntary.
This is what it means, I thought. This is what grace looks like—stepping forward with trembling hands, trusting God to meet you there.

I watched her, standing in the gentle glow of the stage lights, and for a moment, I felt the quiet hum of peace—like the faint rustle of leaves before dawn.

And in that stillness, I was certain of one thing: she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Johanna

Joy began to settle in, pushing aside the nerves that had been twisting in my stomach. As I closed my eyes, I let go of the tight grip I'd been holding onto and turned my attention fully toward God. The room felt full—not just with sound or movement, but with something heavier, deeper. His presence was there. It wasn't about me, or the musicians, or the microphones. It was about Him.

I let a small, shaky breath out and opened my mouth to sing.

"I have found exceeding joy, Jesus answered when I called..."

At first, my voice wavered a little, but as I kept going, the words started to come easier. They filled the space around me, wrapping around my own worries, making them feel smaller. The memories I'd tried to push away came back—moments when I felt completely alone, when it seemed like no one could reach me, when His grace had found me anyway.

"...This Name that has saved me, pure love that embraced me, mercy, grace, eternal life..."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I wasn't even trying to stop them. This wasn't for anyone else—it was for Him. The words felt real, not just lyrics but truths that had been lived out in my own life.

"...Brought from darkness to His light..."

I felt the weight of what those words meant. I remembered how far I'd come, how different my life was because of His love. My voice cracked as I kept singing, but I didn't stop. The band behind me played louder, filling the room with sound, lifting the song higher.

"...While lost in my sin, He raised me and made me live..."

The tears fell faster now, but it wasn't sadness. It was relief, it was gratitude. I lifted my voice with everything I had, not holding anything back. Around me, the congregation joined in—some singing loudly, others swaying quietly, a few standing still with their eyes closed.

"My soul magnifies the Lord, my heart joys in God my Savior..."

I felt my hands rise almost on their own, open and reaching out. The sound of the congregation, the instruments, and my own voice filled the room. It felt like we were all standing at the edge of something bigger than ourselves.

"For He lifts the lowly, and He has done great things for me..."

I opened my eyes and looked out at the people. Some had their hands raised, some were singing with their heads back, and a few had tears running down their faces. It was like, for just a few moments, we were all completely focused on the same thing. We were worshiping—not because we had to, but because we wanted to.

"I will sing praising evermore... He is Mighty and Holy is His Name!"

As the last notes of the song filled the air, I stepped back from the microphone. I could hear the music continuing behind me as the musicians played on. I let myself just stand there for a moment, breathing it all in—the sound of voices lifted up, the feeling of being surrounded by others who felt the same pull to worship, the peace that settled deep in my chest.

For the first time since I'd stepped onto the stage, I felt calm. This was where I was meant to be—not because I was perfect, not because I was the best singer, but because I was willing. And somehow, that was enough.

The people began to take their seats as the worship came to an end. I, on the other hand, stood and walked to the altar as the M.C. lead us to the next activity. I met Anna halfway to the altar, her hand upon her chest as she gasped for breath from the intense worship.

"Great job, I knew you can do it." She lifted her gaze.

"T-thank you, Pastor. Indeed, by His Grace..."

"Amen... that's what happens when you're under Grace, and good at the singing thing too." A slight laugh escaped her lips upon hearing my words.

"Yeah, Yeah I know Pastor. You were sound asleep when God showered the skill. Oh, but hey, I got nothing against you when it comes to preaching. It looks like I was sound asleep when God showered the skill, as well." She countered, causing my lips to curl into a big smile.

"Well, we shall see about that. Hey, I have to go up there now, gotta preach..." I replied briefly and walked to the pulpit. She waved at me with a smile and went back to her seat as well.

As I reached the pulpit, Instantly I discerned the eagerness of the people to hear the message, like a cultivated ground ready for the seeds to be planted in it. Indeed, it is easier to plant, when the land is prepared. It's easier to preach when hearts are opened. This is exactly why worship is so necessary for a preacher like me. And I couldn't help but admire Johanna for that. An anointed woman, I must admit.

Johanna

The service was finally over. We wrapped it up with a beautiful song, and people started shaking hands, one by one. I watched them with a sense of contentment, feeling the warmth in the room. I couldn't help but notice Mercy in the crowd, laughing and chatting with people. I shook my head with a smile—she'd always been so outgoing.

"Mercy!" I called out, waving her over. She turned, her face lighting up as she walked toward me, her blonde hair swaying gently with each step.

"Wow! You did so well today, girlfriend! That worship was amazing!" she said, giving me a tight, excited hug.

I laughed, feeling a little embarrassed. "That wasn't me, Mercy. It was totally God. Honestly, I was so nervous, I thought I might faint out there!"

"Well, thank God you didn't! Otherwise, the congregation might've thought you were 'slain in the Spirit' or something," she joked, her voice light. "Isn't that what they call it?"

I chuckled, impressed she even knew the term. "Yeah, that's what it's called."

Mercy grinned. "Hey, Anna, I've got to go. We have practice for our P.E. class. Are you heading out too?"

"Not yet," I said, glancing back at the church. "I need to ask Pastor Melchour some things about what's next for me since I've started leading. Plus, I think I need to meet the senior pastor. Someone said he wanted to see me."

"Oh, I see," she nodded.

"Hey, I can walk with you to the waiting area?" I offered.

"Sure, let's go," she said, linking her arm with mine. We walked together, chatting until a cab pulled up.

"Take care, Mercy. I'll see you at school tomorrow," I said, waving as she got into the cab.

"You too, Anna! Love you!" she called from the window before the car pulled away.

I stood there for a moment, feeling thankful. Seeing how much God had changed her—and how our friendship had deepened—made my heart feel full.

I turned back to the church. Just as I stepped through the gate, I spotted Pastor Melchour. My eyes were drawn to the familiar sling bag on his shoulder.

"Oh, there you are! I thought you left without your bag," he said.

"Oh!" I hurried over, a bit embarrassed, and took the bag from him. "Sorry, Pastor. I wasn't leaving—I just walked Mercy to the waiting area. I actually had something I wanted to ask you—"

"You can just call me Melchour," he interrupted, his voice gentle.

I blinked, surprised. "Uh, really? Isn't that a little improper? You're my pastor, and my teacher, too..."

"Either that or 'Manung,'" he said with a small smile.

I smiled back. "Alright, I'll go with 'Manung.'"

"That's better," he said, his smile lingering. For a second, I just stood there, noticing how kind and approachable he seemed.

Wait—what was I thinking?

I quickly looked away, trying to cover my embarrassment with a laugh. "Right, uh..."

"So, what were you going to ask?" he prompted.

"I was wondering what happens next now that I've started leading worship. Will I lead again?"

"Yes, you'll be leading again. Pastor Fernando mentioned it," he said.

"Pastor Fernando? Is he our senior pastor?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "He said you should receive more training so you can keep growing in the ministry."

"Really? Wow. Will I be able to meet him today?"

"Yes, he was at one of our outreach churches earlier but he should be back later. Do you have any plans for this afternoon?"

"Not really. Is there something happening?" I asked.

"We have a Youth Bible Study and Prayer Meeting later. Want to join?"

"Sure! What time does it start?"

"Three o'clock and it'll go until around six. If you'd like, we can have lunch here while we wait," he offered as we started toward the pastoral house.

"Really? We can cook and eat here on a Sunday?"

"Especially on a Sunday," he said with a grin.

"Oh, that's nice," I said, feeling a little shy but grateful.

A quiet pause settled between us as we walked. I glanced at him, noticing how his expression had shifted—something was weighing on his mind.

"Manung, are you okay?" I asked softly.

He hesitated. "I'm fine."

"You just... look like something's bothering you," I said, my voice low.

He sighed. "It's Marienne. She told me she won't be coming to church anymore."

I gasped. "What? Why? She was just with us yesterday!"

"I'm not sure. Maybe God is leading her somewhere else. Her boyfriend, Mike, left too. He was one of our best guitarists." His shoulders dropped a little. "But, God's will be done."

"Amen," I said quietly. "I'm sure everything will work out. Didn't you say God has a purpose for everything?"

He looked at me then, a small smile breaking through. "Yes, that's true. Thanks for the reminder."

We reached the pastoral house, and I felt my heart lift a little.

"You're welcome, Manung."

⸻

After the fellowship, we ended up back at the pastoral house. I sat on the wooden bench outside, feeling the cool breeze on my skin. Melchour came out with two cups of coffee and handed one to me.

"Thanks, Manung," I said, taking the cup with a smile. My thoughts drifted back to earlier when I'd watched him cooking. It was such a funny and endearing sight—I'd never imagined seeing him like that.

A voice from the gate caught our attention. I turned to see a man in his fifties, with fair skin and neatly combed graying hair, walking toward us.

"How was the fellowship, Pastor?" Melchour asked.

"It was great!" the man replied warmly. "And how did the service here go?"

"By God's grace, it went very well," Melchour answered.

The man's gaze shifted to me, and he smiled kindly. "You're the one who led worship this morning, right?"

"Yes, Pastor," I said, returning his smile.

"Praise God! I'm Pastor Fernando Aluyen," he introduced himself, offering a handshake.

"It's nice to meet you, Pastor," I said as we shook hands.

"The pleasure's mine," he said. "And your name is?"

"Johanna Dumay, Pastor."

He sat beside us, chatting openly about the service and how the morning had gone. As we talked, I felt at ease. He wasn't what I expected from a senior pastor—he was approachable, warm, more like a father figure than a formal leader.

"Thank you for making me feel so welcome, Pastor," I said, a smile spreading across my face.

"You're very welcome, dear," he said, glancing at his watch. "But it's getting late. You should be heading home."

I nodded. "Yes, Pastor. Thank you again."

"No problem, Johanna," he said, then turned to Melchour. "You'll walk her home, right?"

My eyes met Melchour's as he nodded. "Yes, Pastor. I'll walk her home."