When Beauty Breaks In

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On Sunday mornings, the brown frame building that housed the tiny Mennonite church burst at the seams with the sound of voices raised in song accompanied by an acoustic guitar. On the front pew, Jacob Fiddler sat hunched over his guitar playing like his life depended on it. From the pew behind him, I could see his back muscles convulse with every strum. The guitar suffered from his enthusiasm and…

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