Susan Daniels Poetry

My “plain people” poem brought back a favorite family story I have not heard since I was 10 years old.

My grandparents were out driving one Sunday morning somewhere in Canada, near Owen Sound, Ontario.  It was early enough for service, and they passed a small Mennonite church, with buggies neatly lined up; horses groomed and enjoying the early summer sun.

My grandmother convinced my grandfather to stop for service–after all, how much difference can there be in a worship service from Baptist to Mennonite–as they both arose from the Anabaptists ‘way back.

Well, there was one painful difference.  When the pastor said, “Let us pray,” my grandparents literally knocked heads with the young couple in the pew ahead of them.  Apparently, these Mennonites spun around in the pew, knelt, and bowed their heads; thus injuring themselves and the young visiting couple, who had simply bowed their heads forward.