For as long as I can remember,

I have loved to sing in the choir.

“Sing, Mister” folks call out

as my voice does a high-wire

reaching for heaven’s hem.

I don’t know what my friend Sethany

concentrates on,

but whenever she sings

about the Lord

her face gets this inside-out glow.

That’s all I know.

Ankle deep,

my faith a thing

I wade into now and then.

Not like Sethany.

She’s mid-sea

and thinks I’m

right behind her.

I’m not sure when it happened,

but one Sunday I woke up

and for me,

church was mostly about

hanging out with friends

at God’s house.

And for the longest time,

that seemed to be enough.

After worship,

Mom would flash me a smile

that said “Good girl!”

as Seth and I

trotted off

to youth group.

I turned the music

of the world

way up,

my feet itching to dance

to a new rhythm,

something other than

gospel.

Mom calls volleyball

my new religion

just ‘cause

I practice every day.

How else will I get better?

Let her razz me

all she wants.

I figure

since I was good enough

to make the team,

maybe volleyball

can help pay my way

to college.

It could happen.

you know what they say

about miracles.