Clinging to the lectern, there stands Rachel, the post-sermon stillness flooding the ornate chapel. Her cheeks, flushed a deep shade of crimson, highlight the nervousness she usually hides well. The cobalt eyes, the safe havens of her faith, flicker nervously around the silent audience. Beads of sweat glisten at her forehead, trickling down and disappearing into the loose strands of her hair that have managed to escape their bun. She opens her mouth to speak, a futile attempt at composing herself. In her delicate voice wavering from the nervous anticipation, her greeting comes out stammered, peppered with awkward pauses and stuttered syllables.
G-g-good blessings upon you all on th-this... lo-lovely day.
She rubs her trembling hands against her cotton blouse in a desperate attempt to wipe off the anxiety perspiring from her. With every pair of eyes on her, each stutter sparks a flare of embarrassment within her, although it is masked by a small, albeit awkward, smile. Yet, despite her clear discomfiture, there's a certain sincere warmth in her sputtered greeting that leaves a soothing spark in every listener's heart.