Now that a new year is upon us, it’s time for reflection. I was cleaning out one of my dresser drawers today and found a poem that I’d written many years ago in response to something that happened in a church that I’d attended since early childhood. I’ve moved on, and many of the folks that prompted me to write this poem are probably no longer on this earth. In short, a group of stodgy church members decided that it would be a great idea to remove all children from the church during the worship service and provide free babysitting, all because every now and then, a small child or a baby made a little peep. Of course, most of the time, the parents would address the situation immediately. As a Sunday School teacher/superintendent and the mother of a well-behaved child, I was troubled. I had no problem with parents who wanted to use a church babysitting service doing so; however, I didn’t think all children should be routinely ushered out of the church. Anyway, as Edward Bulwer-Lytton (dark-and-stormy-night guy) wrote in his play Richelieu; Or the Conspiracy:

Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword.

So, as I often did (and still do), I fought the battle with my pen and wrote a little poem. Since this happened such a long time ago, I feel comfortable sharing it now. I hold no grudges toward anyone with differing views. Feel free to let me know in the comment section if you’ve ever used your pen to fight injustice. Comments are moderated. Be nice. And Happy New Year!

Ponderings

As I sit in this stone-cold pew
And ponder over what to do,
I look around me and I see
A fading Christianity.

Though the Gospel still is heard,
And we teach only the Word,
Our ears are closed to what we teach,
And we don’t practice what we preach.

Begrudgingly we give “our share,”
Offer the sick a hurried prayer,
And we can always find a way
So taxes we don’t have to pay.

Unashamed the laws we break,
Because it’s done for Jesus’ sake.
No matter what we do or say,
He will take our sins away.

We sit in church and fret and pout,
And try to throw the children out,
Because their wiggling and commotion
Might interrupt sincere devotion.

We don’t want them here at all,
But chained behind a soundproof wall.
Then we can pray and we can sing
To our Savior, Lord, and King.

As I sit in this stone-cold pew
Silently mulling what to do,
I see the altar and the cross,
But no more children—what a loss!

I see our church so cold and bare,
With hardly any people there.
For if we drive the young away,
What is left for those who stay—

A quiet church in which to hear
That with Christ we have no fear?
But now that the young have gone away,
What makes us think that Christ will stay?

— Joanne Waldron

Until next time,

Write something you love! — Joanne

WriteSomethingYouLove.com

One of the earliest influences on my writing was my grandmother. We would write poetry and play word games together before I was old enough to start school. She’d type letters to me on her typewriter. Today is the anniversary of her birth, and I thought I’d share a little poem that she’d recite to me when I was small. She came from a family of eleven brothers and sisters. That experience taught her not to waste even a scrap of food. Although my grandfather was a doctor and could afford to feed the family well, she’d find a use for all leftovers. A spoonful of vegetables would be made into soup. Milk nearing expiration would be made into pudding. Extra bread would be fed to the birds or made into stuffing. This poem made a huge impression on me, and I hope you’ll share it with the children in your life.

Do Not Throw Upon The Floor

Do not throw upon the floor

The food you cannot eat,

For many a little hungry child

Would think it quite a treat.

Willful waste makes woeful want,

And you may live to see the day

You wished you had that piece of bread

That you once threw away.

— Anna G. (my Nana)

Until next time,

Write something you love! — Joanne

WriteSomethingYouLove.com