in the garden (I)

She paused on the way back to his room at the health center.

"I'd really like you to play at Dad's funeral," she said. "He likes In the Garden."

I never knew that.

I did know, because I witnessed it, that one year at Christmas, he read from O Little Town of Bethlehem and choked up. How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is giv'n...


There's a lot of things I still don't know about my dad.

That same day, as we drove home, my husband said, "Your dad would like it if you played at his funeral."

I don't believe in coincidence.

A few days later, an interlude came to mind... so I captured it on my iPhone.

Then today, I thought about a simple beginning, a solo line...

I come to the garden alone... 


Because each of us has to come to the garden alone - we each have a singular relationship with Christ.

The second Voice joins the first.

And the voice I hear, falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses...


I never knew the third verse of the hymn.

I'd stay in the garden with Him
Tho' the night around me be falling
But He bids me go thro' the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.


Minor notes, slight discord, this voice of woe. Resolving into sweetness, the call of unfailing love. His voice.

I'm wrapped in a deep, internal place right now. When asked to share at our small group tonight, I took a pass.

Because what do I say, that I'm crafting an original arrangement of In the Garden to play at my still-living father's funeral?