In My Garden

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

One of my happier memories of my dad is the two of us sitting at the piano singing duets, my alto harmonizing with his tenor.  I could read music and play simply but that was enough.  One of my favorites was “In the Garden” probably because of the harmonization. I didn’t truly appreciate the words of this hymn until I moved here and began seriously gardening.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

When I began to really spend time outdoors I was overwhelmed by the beauty of God’s creation. It’s one of those things where you wonder why you didn’t start doing this a long, long time ago. Over the last two years I’ve also found myself growing closer to God in a deeply personal way. Outside working in the yard communing with nature is communing with God.  There are no petitions, no questions, just worship.

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

My sister, the minister (sorry, Barb, but I just like the way that rolls of the tongue) has a blog and when I read her posts I can “read” her close relationship with God – a relationship that seems like a love affair, a love affair on a deeply sublime level that transcends the physical.  I find myself craving a relationship like that, but I have been so distant for so long…

Spring is a time for new beginnings, a renewal and reawakening. Even though I was distant He wasn’t.  He has never stopped loving me.  Today as I was pulling back the mulch from the rock garden, I observed how it seems I am learning so much so late in life (well, maybe not that late…).  I am looking forward to my garden time this spring, summer and fall.  I want to renew my own love affair with my God and Saviour and I will never feel the deep chill of a spiritual winter again.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.