Gift of the Garden - Part 1 of 2

mir·a·cle

1.     A surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.

2.     A highly improbable or extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment that brings very welcome consequences.

The garden behind the quaint country church on the outskirts of Montgomery, Alabama in the farming community of Mt. Meigs was past its autumn glory, but had yet to reach the resting time of winter. I traveled to the century-old, white frame structure with the desire to spend time with God during a day of contemplative retreat, but I soon realized my focus was inundated by grief. My soul overflowed with tears, wept and unwept, for my daughter Tara. I wondered if perhaps it had been a mistake to come so soon after her death. When our small group of women separated for a period of solitude and silence, I was grateful for the opportunity to wander the garden alone. In my hand I carried a crumple piece of paper provided by the retreat leader for pondering upon which was written a version of psalm 63.

On the garden’s edge I stopped to peer into a rock-lined pool of water that was clear on top, but filled with summer leaves now dark and decaying on the bottom. The thought occurred that I was like those leaves in the bottom of a deep pool of grief. 

Beyond the pool, the path continued into tangled vines and trees a distance from the well-kept beds of the garden. It beckoned me to follow. 

The hedges and canopy bordering the walkway opened, and I stepped into a garden room deep in the woods. The earth was paved with bricks--old, worn, mossy, and inviting.  A curved wall dressed with plaques defined the boundaries of the clearing. Were they graced with images of saints? Angels? I don’t know. Perhaps someday I will return to look more closely.

An opening in the wall at the rear of the clearing framed the entry to a passageway lined on either side by trees that led deeper into the woods. Ferns carpeted the ground between the trees and danced under the caress of the breeze. The last vestige of starlight settled onto dewdrops at the tip of each frond and nestled under the blanket of morning. Never had I seen such a heavenly place. Never would I wish to walk there for fear of destroying the delicate beauty.  A large iron urn marked the far end of the fern corridor. Raised high above the earth upon a crumbling brick pedestal, its earthy color and rounded shape were pleasing and peaceful.  It’s solid, secure form spoke of calm in contrast to my inner turmoil.

Surprising in its presence, in the center of the cobbled clearing sat a long, rectangular table surrounded by eight chairs of the same rough-hewn wood. It appeared to be a banquet table. Wood scraping against brick as I moved the chair to sit at the end of the table and the chirp of a mockingbird were the only sounds in the garden. I sat with the fern hallway at my back. Sorrow saturated the cool from the marble tabletop that chilled my resting hands and forearms. The tabletop brought to mind broad stone slabs laid upon the earth to mark the resting place of fellow pilgrims. When you grieve everything seems to spark remembrance of loss.

From my vantage point at the end of the table, I noticed the path spilled back into the garden on the far side of the clearing. Beyond the shiny leaves of camellias laden with tightly closed buds that would bless the January garden with pink blossoms, the path forked. The right side curved into a myrtle grove at the center of the garden and on towards the church. The left side turned outward towards a collection of gravestones on the edge of the woods. It seemed a cruel twist to find myself in a place of soothing beauty, but once again within sight of a cemetery. I thought perhaps I would wander to read the names and epitaphs on the headstones when I left the clearing.

With little interest in the words written upon it, I unfolded the paper in my hand. My eyes immediately fell upon a passage that spoke my very thoughts of Tara.  Was it a coincidence that the voice of the psalmist echoed the cry of my heart?

“O Love, you are my beloved and I long for you.  My soul thirsts for you.  All that is within me thirsts as in a dry and barren land with no water. So I have called out to you in my heart.”  

To my amazement, through the words of the psalmist, I heard Tara reply. She told me she is safe. She told me the bond of love between us still exists. She urged me to have courage, and she promised someday all that separates us will seem as a dream.

“My soul feasts as with a magnificent banquet, and my mouth praises you with joyful lips. . . . When I ponder on your kindness and meditate on you throughout the night; for you have been my salvation, and in the shadow of your wings, I sing for joy. My soul clings to you, your love upholds me. . .The fear that seems to separate me from you shall be transformed and disappear. As they are faced, each fear is diminished. They shall be gone, as in a dream when I awaken.”

My daughter sits at the banquet table of the Lord!  The vice of sorrow loosened, and for that moment, I knew peace.

Soon it would be time to rejoin the others, and I would be invited to share my experience during the silence. Should I speak of my conversation with Tara?  Would they think I imagined it, or worse, that I had slipped over the edge of reality into a chasm of delusion? I didn’t know the conversation with Tara was merely the beginning of what happened in the garden. 

Perhaps, it is only fair to warn you that at this point the story becomes very strange. By definition, I suppose it was a miracle.  I can’t explain it, and like any person might who experiences an event that can only be described as supernatural, I have tried to define it with words and contain it within the vessel of the ordinary, but I can’t. Was it a dream? A vision? Was I hallucinating? Was it all a figment of my imagination? I’ll leave it for you to decide. All I can say is this--it happened.

To be continued . . .

Reflections:

"The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience." ~Emily Dickinson

 "The way I see it, you have two ways to live your life: one, as if no miracles exist and the other, as though everything is a miracle.”~ Albert Einstein

 “And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day.”~Genesis 3:8

“One is nearer God’s heart in the garden than anywhere else on earth?”~Dorothy Frances Gurney

-Have I had an experience of reading or hearing words that seemed meant for me? What story would I tell?

-Is there a place on earth where I feel closest to God?