There’s a church in the valley by the wildwood
No lovelier place in the dale
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale
Macrorie United Church. No longer open and never brown but still dear to my childhood.
Oh, come to the church by the wildwood
Come to the church in the dale
No place is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale
inside our Church
How sweet on a clear Sabbath morning
To list to the clear ringing bell
It’s tones so sweetly are calling
Oh, come to the church in the vale
me & my cousin, Deb, at the guest book for an anniversary "come & go tea"
Oh, come to the church by the wildwood
Come to the church in the dale
No place is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale
* * *
Sunday school, Easter service, Confirmation classes, Christmas concerts and bridal showers. Anniversary celebrations, retirement parties, funerals and luncheons. Church was an anchor: a place to gather, to worship, to sing, to cry, to laugh, to live.
It doesn’t take much effort to still smell the hymnals, coffee perking in the basement kitchen and the combined fragrance of Lemon Pledge and Pine Sol – a fragrance that said this place is clean, this place is holy; something so deeply ingrained that just a whiff today can transport me immediately there.
I still can hear the creak of the entry stairs, shared greetings between friends and neighbors and inner doors closing reverently as services began.
Mary Jane's: image superstarbabies.com
Smiling, I remember the clickety-click-click of our Mary Jane shoes as we cantered down the aisle and into our seats. Trying my best to be still, my hands recall the feel of the polished oak pews beneath them.
I remember the nerves that threatened to overtake us as we stood in line on the back staircase leading up to the choir stand.
But mostly, mostly I remember the warmth of the congregation and the soft presence of dear ones who left us years ago.
Do you have a childhood church living in you?
