Our Little Church

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:  www.inspirationalarchive.com

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