In which a song takes me back to Remnant

I had a nostalgic moment at church on Sunday. We sang the song “I Surrender All” in its entirety. I simply love that song.
But in that moment, I was brought back a few years. When I closed my eyes, I was 4 years younger. We were in New Braunfels. We were in The Warehouse on a Wednesday night for our high school midweek service at Tree of Life. I had spent the hour before, locked in that dismal red room with a group of leaders as we prayed for the teens of the city and for our service. I had visited with kids that I’d known for a few years, kids that came over every Monday night or just when they felt like it, kids that I’d camped with and wept with and laughed with. I patrolled the building after the service started, chasing in the stragglers, eyeing the kids on the train tracks, sullenly smoking and feeling alienated. I had gone inside and stood at the back of a darkened warehouse/sanctuary, alternately singing and keeping a watchful eye.
And then Caleb, Amelia, Rory, Brandon, Anthony and Natalie began to sing “I Surrender All”.
I used to love when we sang that song. The room would become very quiet. I used to love to just keep my eyes open and watch these beautiful young people as they worshipped. I could see them quietly crying or on their knees. I remember stretching my arms wide, wanting to encompass them all, hold them all. I felt such connection with God and such connection with our church. We sang loudly together – some of us *cough* worse than others. I sank to my knees, tears running down my face, arms outstretched. People began to pray together in huddles of two or three, seeking support for struggles or friendship for the journey or the face of God. The purity of the request, the oneness of our hearts and the beauty of our worship combining, proclaiming our corporate desire to “ever love and trust Him”.