Graphic by MamaBear
The Church
A little wood frame chapel,
Down a long dirt road.
To me was a Cathedral,
It was God’s abode.
No stained glass or carpet down,
Creaky wooden floors.
No organ or piano there,
No lock on the doors.
We sang because He listened,
Praises of His Name.
The Preacher preached with passion,
This was not a game.
No separating young and old,
We became one crowd.
We sang praises of His Love,
And we sang it loud.
Oh how I miss that tiny church,
So long ago and far.
But God is where you seek Him,
Even in your car.
So pray to Him, praise His Name,
Anywhere you go.
He’ll guide you through your lifetime,
Trust Him this I know.
Conspiracy Guy 4/30/4
aka DIF © 2003 or 2004