The Church Lady
Somewhere in the heart of the south,
she dresses up every Sunday morning.
Modest floral dress,
hat with flowers to match,
freshly picked,
from her Garden of Eden.
Soft scent of perfume,
it’s springtime in the sanctuary.
The fat preacher in the silk suit,
with a private parking space,
for his luxury car,
that says “Clergy” in the window,
tells her, what not to be,
others, what they should be,
who’s going to heaven,
and who’s going to hell.
She puts her money in the basket,
to pay for his house on the hill.
Congregation never invited,
to share in their tithes.
Prays for strength,
prays for pardon,
prays for others,
to God above.
She walks home,
to her two-bedroom house.
Old worn shoes,
carry her there.
On the sidewalk, she sees,
with withered hand held out,
begging for salvation,
one who’s the “lesser” of these.
Her hand reaches down,
to pull that one up,
saying come with me,
to my mansion of glory.
She feeds the hungry,
and helps the poor.
All for them and not for her.
That’s what Jesus told her to do.
Sunday night, she hangs up her dress,
and gets on her knees.
She humbly prays for all,
and the fat preacher too.
She thanks Jesus and God,
for all that she has.
She asks more for others,
then she wants for herself.
On her old pillow,
she lays down her head.
Her treasures in Heaven,
and Peace in her mind.
With a comforted touch,
by the hand of her father,
she closes her eyes,
and goes home to him.
Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God Matthew 5:8
