In the Pew

My granddaughter slumps
in resignation.
There’s a pout on that angelic
face and the chapel
is too warm. Her fine,
blond hair sticks to her
cheek and I quietly
stroke it away while
the speaker drones on
about the prophet Samuel,
another apparently angelic
child.
Macie glances at her fellow
sufferer. Michael is trying
hard to be quiet and still,
but he shifts uncomfortably,
glances at the clock.
A whole long hour—
a challenge for
small wiggly bodies.
Their father, as a child,
whispered to his sisters as
he squirmed, but
sometimes he listened—
or I thought he did.
The speaker is finished and
the choir readies itself.
In the sackcloth silence,
I wonder about taking
my children, and now
my grandchildren,
to church.
Will teaching love be enough
to prepare them for
an uncertain future?
Or is it the only thing
that could?