I Saw A Little Church

I Saw a Little Church

I saw a little Church once ~ looked just like a painting upon my wall.

‘Twas painted by someone very dear, someone who came to call.

It resembled a little Church we had attended, when I was just a tot.

We had Sunday School out under a tree, so it wouldn’t be so hot.

This was before modern times, of having everything at hand . . .

It was at the edge of the wood, no air conditioner, neither a fan.

Because there was no electricity, out in the Country then ~

But it was our little Church, where every Sunday, we’d attend.

Somehow, we thought nothing of it, spoiled, we didn’t used to be,

You see, we lived on a little farm, way out in the Country.

We loved the Lord with all our heart; He was well worthy of our love.

We had to walk a dusty road, but God took good care of us from above.

It was depression time; my friend remembers, very well too.

On mothers’ day I always felt sorry, that for mama, a red rose wouldn’t do.

Red was for those with living moms and my mama had to wear white.

Because she had lost her mother, every time I would cry that night.

But, in my mind, the little white Church, with a red roof, I can still see,

For my friend is my sister who has Alzheimer’s and painted the picture for me.

She loves the Lord and all of us dearly and if there’s anything she can do.

She’s always there, softly asking ~ is there something I can do too?

I always tell her yes, not wanting her to feel she can’t, I find her a chore.

Tell her I saw a little Country Church. Why not paint it once more?

For many people will love it, associate it with their own, long ago past.

Please, Lord, let not her forget. Let this scene in her memory last.

Dedicated to my sister, Bobbie

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