I teared up three times this past Sunday. The first occurrence involved an emotional response to watching Archbishop Job (who had a direct impact on our conversion to Orthodoxy) serve Liturgy with our own priest and deacon at St. Elizabeth's, our home parish, in celebration of her Patronal Feast. The second was a reaction to rain – heavy rain pouring mercilessly on our parish's front lawn, where a carnival had been set up by my children's incredibly generous Sunday School teacher and her husband, prompting my seven-year-old daughter, Priscilla, to break into quiet sobs behind the choir stand where she was singing and crying in disappointment simultaneously. The third time was near the end of the service when the hymn, We praise Thee. We Bless Thee. We give thanks unto to Thee, O our God. O our God, filled our Church – when the rich voices of the clergy mixed with what appeared to be a sudden onslaught of whimpers, fidgeting and loudly whispered questions/comments from the many infants, toddlers and kids present (oh what a blessing!). I am not sure how to best explain it, the elation I felt at that moment. It was as if heaven and earth were intersecting right there in Chesterton, Indiana. We'd all just come as we were: tired, imperfect, hungry, and together were gifted with a taste of something divine. I closed my eyes and sang along. It was lovely.