When the girls were little, they attended St. Andrew’s Episcopal School, a school that held a chapel service every day. Every few months, each child would take a turn acolyting (carrying the candles or the cross). The school would let the moms and dads know when their children would be acolyting, so that they could attend. Invariably, I would have a tight deadline on the day that one of the girls would be acolyting, but I would stop my work and zip down to school, grumpy and in a hurry. I would quickly slip into the quiet little chapel. Then, the children would begin to process to one of the familiar hymns, and they would sing it so loudly and semi-off-key that I couldn’t help but smile and get a little teary. Then my own little gal would reverently carry out her acolyting duty looking straight ahead–solemnly, seriously and a tiny bit nervously. Then, just for a moment, she would turn my way with a tiny smile that said, “I’m glad you’re here.” And, I would think, “It just doesn’t get any better than this.” I always left chapel renewed and content. And each of those tight deadlines was turned in right on time.