Friday, June 28, 2019


One Sunday free to church I went
To sing and worship there with friends
My mind became a drift and rent
'Tween here and where the Spirit wends

I sat upon my bench in thought
A gazing on a kindly soul
Who was a benched in her same spot
Exemplar in her mother's role

Yet, she wasn't hedged by kin or clan
Nor were her children seated near
She was not warmed by arm of man
And yet, her motherhood was clear.

For though alone she seemed to be
Her solitude bore witness of
The lessons she had taught her three
Good sons to serve and act with love.

Her husband humble led this crew
In teaching her three sons to serve
He honored true his vows, I knew
His priesthood calls he did observe.

A front the congregation stood
To lead the people in their praise
Unite them all in brotherhood
With rousing words their spirits raise

I say this brother served with heart
And she the spouse gave kindly eye
That caused his troubles to depart,
His doubts they fled while she stood by.

The woman's eldest son learned too
Of how to serve and firmly stand
She taught him faith and all he knew
To serve his Lord and fellow man

And so this boy to man had grown
When answered he the call of God
To serve afar in lands unknown
And give two years to preach abroad

And thus had left his mother lone
A seated on that bench this morn
To go and reap the fruits she'd sown
In all she'd taught to her firstborn.

And like the first the second gone
Not seated on his mother's pew
Instead I found her loyal son
In sacred act was serving, too

With pure white vestments and clean hands
He broke and blessed the bread for us
Reminding all the fettered bands
That Christ had loosed upon his cross

And though his mother sat amid
The quiet congregation mute
Her words of truth could not be hid
To hers his actions followed suit

Last was her youngest not among
His mother's loving company
For hymns of praise he led and sung
To bring angelic harmony

He served the masses with his gift
And stood before our mighty throng
Cajoled the melody adrift
And fill the air with blissful song

His body flawed and lark twas known
But led the hymns with deftly hand
His mother proud was not alone
We all felt proud of this young man

This woman sitting with no kin
In church caused me to ponder here
How blessed is the strength that's been
Of those the women I hold dear!

They've taught me service, charity,
The power of prayer and hope.
Their knowledge gave me clarity
To understand the fuller's soap

I've left them many times forlorn
To sit while I was called to serve
Yet honor I return adorn
In gratitude they well deserve

So when you see a solitaire 
Kind woman sitting on her own
Look at the bows she's groweth near
You'll see her work is ever shown.

This poem was inspired one Sunday when I saw a sister in our ward. She always sat her same spot. Nothing unusual. What inspired me was seeing all three of her sons and her husband all providing different acts of service. The husband served as a counselor in the bishopric, her oldest was on a mission in South Africa, her second blessed the sacrament, and her youngest conducted our music. Many a week she was always alone, but her bows were full of great fruit.

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