in the garden (II)

We found her in the dining room, alone at a table with a plate of congealed food in front of her. So we pushed her wheelchair out to the garden in back and sat on either side of her.

Tall elms and oaks shaded us. The recorded bullfrog sounded its rabid growl over the peaceful sound of the fountain. We admired the roses - yellow, orange, red. Time slowed and there was nothing more important than sitting with her, each holding one of her hands. (It reminded me of what I'd said about holding my baby nephew, that there is nothing more important than sitting still, holding a baby.) Sitting still with my soon-to-be-91-year-old mother-in-law ranks right up there.

When we returned inside, we decided to go hear the singing.

Picture this. The rehabilitation room lined with wheelchairs and people in various stages of awareness. One pajama-clad woman signed the words as the group sang. Another woman gestured us closer so we could see the singing group. A man slumped forward, looking at the floor.

When the song leaders began the hymns, oh the wonder of hearing the onlookers sing! "Count your blessings, name them one by one!" they sang with gusto and conviction. "Trust and obey - for there's no other way - to be happy in Jeeeeee-sus - but to trust and obey!" The hunchbacked woman next to me sang strong and low, and smiled at me when I glanced her way.

Things were wrapping up, and they only had time for two more songs. They hadn't asked for requests, but I had in mind if they did, I would ask for In the Garden.

"Oh, we've got to do this one," the leader said.

"I come to the garden alone...," he began.

How is it that God always, always knows? How is it that he ever bestows?

Tonight He walked with me and he talked with me and he told me I am His own.

In the garden.

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?

stop

I overslept, and consequently had to do the scheduled six-mile run on my own.

It was a hot one, and I was tired from a three-mile run during lunch the day prior plus a four-mile walk with a friend after work.

So there were a number of reasons to stop along the way...

Geese and goslings. These are just a few - the rest of the "herd" got away.

Smell the roses... Literally!

Mom's favorite, yellow roses.

A dormant cat, but not for long, not at the prospect of being petted!

And a beautiful flowering bush...

I really should be more driven. But oh, what I'd miss along the way.

kindness

Lately, I have been undone by kindness.

The shoebox wrapped round and round with clear packing tape was waiting when I got home. A mystery unexpected.

It's a wonder I didn't stab myself with the butcher knife I used to open the well-protected box.

Inside, a handmade card, drawn and embellished with a sewn heart. A beautiful scarf. Two (!) packages of Trader Joe's Honey Sesame Almonds.

But it was the message that undid my carefully constructed composure.

Yes, there is a lot on my plate. The tipping point is the process of losing my dad. In a strange way, he is becoming child and I am becoming parent. It's sad and scary and uncomfortable at times; at others, when I step back and breathe, I feel grateful. Grateful to have this time, hard as it is. Thankful that God has gifted me with the skills to take on these new responsibilities. I would not trade this experience.

But.

Sometimes I feel alone.

And when I do, something always happens to remind me that I'm not.

So I add to my list of gratitude those who listen... and put into action what they hear.

So simple - card, scarf, almonds.

Kindness reminds me that I am not alone.

i don't have time

So what's one of my favorite excuses?

I don't have time... I'm too busy.

I don't have time and I am too busy, that's the truth. (Whose fault is that?) Full-time and part-time jobs, helping aging parents, training for a half-marathon, hobbies, volunteering, - oh, did I mention a husband in there somewhere?!

Yesterday this refrain echoed in my head throughout the day, a day when my husband and I took time that we didn't have and spent it in support of old friends - well-loved friends that we too seldom see.

Three hours there.

I don't have time for the northbound freeway on-ramp to be closed because of the construction that is ruining traffic flow in our small town this summer. I don't have time for the seven-minute detour back and around to get to the next on-ramp.


I don't have time for the teenage dance team members in front of me at Starbucks, where we stopped to get coffee and switch drivers. (They let us go ahead while they decided.)

Three hours with them.

We walked into the church, and first spotted Jon, handsome Marine, my former piano student and garden helper. He saw us and came to greet us. Next, his brother Eric - who we affectionately tease about being a gangsta with his tattoos. We made our way to his sister Anne, aka Runnergirl. And then to our friends, Keith and Patty.

Earlier this week, Keith's mom passed from death into life, as the song refrain goes. (Not entirely correct theologically; her eternal life here transitioned into her new home in heaven - the place prepared for her, a place where she was welcomed by her beloved Savior.)

Shepherd me, O God

Patty wrote earlier this week,

Back home in the quiet of my house, I reflect on memories....one comes to my mind, that says so much about who Mom was while she walked this earth. I remember a time many years ago, I don't even remember where we were, but what I do recall is that there was a man sitting all by himself. It wasn't someone we knew, but Mom couldn't have this person looking lonely so she went over and started chatting with him. Being the snit I was I said to her "Mom.....maybe that person wants to be left alone...maybe he doesn't want anyone talking to him." She looked at me like I'd just grown two heads! The thought of someone wanting to be alone would never cross her mind. What crossed her mind was that she wanted to make someone else feel cared for. I never forgot that exchange. Thankfully I've matured a little since then and have also had a great role model to help me learn to think of others more often!

The funeral celebrated a life that was spent building - building a family,a community, a life that honored God. Another remembrance posted by Patty,

As we stood by Mom's casket this evening, my heart was moved by a statement our daughter [Julia] made. "You know, Grandma didn't travel across the world as a missionary,but she made a difference in all of the lives around her." Such a true statement... I believe that totally sums up the gospel's greatest commandment, "love the Lord your God with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself." Thank you Mama for living it out for all of us to learn from.

As we circled her casket in the columbarium, the sun streamed in, lighting the colorful funeral spray. We sang. How Great Thou Art. Amazing Grace. A bird-chirp punctuated the priest's prayer for comfort.

Three hours back.

I don't have time for this ridiculous freeway tie-up. Seriously, thirty minutes to go three miles? I can run faster than that!

Immediately upon pulling into our driveway at home, our very chatty neighbor walked up. I don't have time for this. I actually said to my husband, "Oh, do we have to do this now?!"

And as if to prove that I do have time... my neighbor and his wife wanted to show me the work they had done in my front garden left woefully untended this spring because I don't have time. Weeded and cleared, ready for mulch.

Reality check.

I don't not have time.

To love God, to love people - those matter most.

I have nothing but time for that.