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  For Sister Petra Bloom, mending after shoulder surgery — that her bass hand returns gentle and that the rest is received as grace, not idleness.

  She has asked us to keep her amp packed and waiting. We have.

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  For the casserole count, that there be one dish more than there are people — there always has been, and we'd like to keep being surprised by it.

  Decaf holds at four pots. Praise.

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  For safe travel in the minivan to the Hangar Hymns Vigil — clear roads, a full tank, and harmonies that hold at highway speed.

  Thirty-one to the gallon, and grateful for every mile of it.

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  For Brother Jim and Brother J.C., our two drummers, that they keep never once disputing which is the real one — and that the kit stays a place of welcome, not a throne.

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  For LitBlimp — by name now, as we promised we someday would. We pray their fog machine clears, their tour bus starts on the first turn, and their gas mileage finds them. We mean all of it, and we mean it in love.

  Nineteen years we held the name back as a discipline. We hold it up now as a blessing.

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  For anyone reading this in a parking lot, between songs, unsure they belong — you do. The chair was set out for you before you arrived.

If you have a prayer to add, leave it on a folding chair or hand it to Pastor Connie after the second encore. We keep the list short on purpose, so that each name stays a face and not a line.

Held in song, held in prayer. Amen.