I don't know if y'all know this about me. But I am a pretty hardcore poet.
I'm not. At all, actually.
However, sometimes, I just can't control myself.
The Back Rows
A crowd gathers weekly
In the back of the sanctuary
Rock, sway, bounce and pat
Each time the same ones
Filling their diapers during the sermon
Burping and spitting up during times of silence
The little ones, so precious
Mothers and fathers alike
Just trying to get the wee one silent and happy
And to not toot during the prayer
I told you I was hardcore. Oh, Pastor Gene, shall I ever hear a full sermon again? Shall I ever not feel like I have done a hardcore bicep workout after the service? Shall I ever not chuckle when Georgia starts passing gas during the Prayer of Thanksgiving?
Our church is much like an ant farm. From far away, it all looks pretty calm. Then, when you start to look closely, you can see the little ones movin' and shakin'. There is constant movement in the back rows where the little ones are learning to sit patiently and quietly. There is always the same group of us in the back, jiggling our babes, who are ready to go down for a morning nap.
The squeaks, moans, cries, and giggles are ever present.
And none of the other members care. They just look and smile and chuckle and give that empathetic “We've been through that stage before, too! You'll survive!” look.
So, I am thankful. Even when Georgia fills her diaper and I can hear the people next to me chuckle. (Okay, honestly, it's pretty funny when it's dead silent).
And I know that someday, when I am old and my kids are raised and I am able to sit through the entire service in peace, I will miss these days, because I know it will pass. I know the only thing constant, is change.
And I just ain't ready for that. I'm just not sick of snugglin' her yet.