Much More than Lyrics

Five Windsor chairs at the front of the church.
The choir loft.

When I was a child I could name each singer.
Three of them were related to me.
Aunt. Uncle. Grandfather.
The other two felt like relatives.
That is the way it is in small towns.

I did not stay there of course.
Never intending to, I became a creature
of a larger world. I saw cities and countries.
I left an impact that even now, a decade later,
remains.

And yet, here I am again. Full circle.
A different kind of impact.
Less broad. More deep.
Worshiping a God who is somehow both
in another tiny church
in a completely different part of the world.

Content, less in the destination
but in the journey, the craters and peaks,
that leave me singing the same gospel hymns of my youth,
understanding, finally, far more than lyrics.

About this poem

I am in love with my life these days. In a way it has been full circle. In ways, it is entirely new. This whole contentment thing is an adventure. I am not sure I trust it, but I sure love it.

The picture was taken at Carsley Methodist Church, my grandparents’ church, one of the places I was formed.

Tom