My White Shirt

I still wear a white shirt every Sunday; it makes it seem like things are normal still. I'm sure they'll let us back in church some day, that little red brick building on the hill. Your church may be a mosque or synagogue, but I would guess you miss it just as much. Your friends have missed your friendly dialogue, yet all this time you've tried to keep in touch. Perhaps a few of them will now be gone; the virus may have claimed a life or two, but if they are, you know you must move on; the ones that still remain depend on you. Sometimes God moves in quite mysterious ways, but he will stop this thing one of these days.