Every Samson Needs a Delilah
an excerpt

And then they were exiting the stage as all of us screamed and applauded. Maybe the rest of the school liked The Good Miracle, but that wasn’t why I was applauding. I was applauding because of who was coming on next.
Samson.
Yes, the man deserves his own paragraph, just for his name. He deserves his own page, probably, but I never was one for overkill.
There was a lull as we waited for Samson to get on stage, and then someone near the front of the auditorium started to chant his name, until soon a lot of other students joined in. I was content to sit quietly.
I didn’t care if we had to wait an hour for Samson. For one thing, we were out of class for this assembly, so if he was late, then we could stay out of class longer. Of course, that was probably Delilah’s influence on my thinking. But really, the reason why I wouldn’t mind waiting an hour –no, three hours— was the fact that Samson was just the sort of singer that was worth waiting for. The last time I went to one of his concerts, he came on stage barefoot in his ratty old jeans, wearing a tight black t-shirt that said, “I heart Jesus and French Fries.” As the arena had screamed for him, he had perched silently on the stool, his acoustic guitar resting slightly on his knee. And he sat there, his head bowed, waiting several minutes until the whole arena was silent. Finally, before he did or said anything else, he said in a soft voice, “God, this is for you.” A small prayer for a great God.
How can you not love a man who starts his concert like that?
Even if he keeps you waiting.