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Our Little Church

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 Our church building has been in our community for about a hundred years, but for the last few years, the already small congregation has been losing someone to death every few months.  It weighs heavily on my heart that all the remaining parishioners are elderly and there is little chance of keeping our church open beyond the next few years.  This dismal thought was the inspiration for the following poem.

Our Little Church

In our pretty little church

Where we meet on Sunday morn,

Nearly every single worshipper

Was to former church folks born;

But alas, our children went away;

And we have empty pews

That far exceed the number

Of those that we still use.

In our pretty little church

The love and faith are true

And whenever we’re within it,

God is in it too.

It was there I learned to love Him

And there I’d rather stay

Until I go to meet Him

On that great and fateful day;

But our aging congregation

Keeps diminishing one by one,

As one by one our members

Pass away, their work well done.

And now we’re quickly dwindling

And I often face the fear

That the day our church must close

Is growing very near.

I know that I can worship

Anyplace that I may be;

But when I close my eyes to pray

I know I will still see

Within my mind the little church

Where God grew real to me

And where on Sunday mornings

I will always want to be.

B. Killebrew

Read more articles, stories and poems by Betty Killebrew at:

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