Gift of the Garden - Part 2

Continued from Part 1 . . .

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.

As I sat in silence and solitude during an autumn day of retreat at the banquet table tucked deep in the garden behind the small country church , I realized I was no longer alone. Family members and loved ones who have gone before me were my companions. It is impossible to describe their appearance in worldly terms or explain how it could be possible at all, but they were there, and I could see them.

Cheryl, my dear friend and my younger daughter’s godmother was in the center chair on the right side of the table.  My dearly beloved grandmother was at my right hand.  My grandfather sat left center. Three chairs on the opposite end of the table were unoccupied.

Rather than being disturbed or frightened by their company, I felt joy in reunion. Each person is a treasured memory and special gift in my life. Why had they come? What memories and blessings did they bring? What remained of the gift they had been in my life?

Cheryl taught me faith doesn’t have to be complicated.  It can be as simple as a child’s prayer.  Her last prayer only moments before she died contained all that needed to be said. ”Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

My grandmother gave me the knowledge and priceless gift of unconditional love, and my grandfather, through magical tales of fairies and invisible cloaks, filled my world with fantasy, humor, play and laughter. The strength of their faith is the foundation upon which the faith of today's generation rests.

I was encircled at the table by faith, love, laughter, comfort and perseverance.

I sensed Tara at my left hand. What was the gift of her life to me?  I couldn’t force myself to think of that or to even glance in her direction. I wasn’t ready. The pain of loss was too fresh.

My eyes wandered to the empty chairs at the far end of the table, and a realization grew. They were reserved for the people in my life whose time has not yet come to join the banquet, the people who are present gifts of comfort and companionship--my mother, my father, my husband Sam.  

I sensed motion on my left.  Tara rose and moved to the far end of the table, stepping into view. The previously unoccupied seat at the head of the table was no longer vacant.  Jesus was there, gazing at me. Tara walked behind him and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. No words were spoken. No words were necessary. It was as if she had brought him to me, to comfort me, to assure me they were together, perhaps saying, “Jesus, my mother grieves so.  Won’t you go with me to comfort her?”

Tara returned to her place at the table beside me. My eyes followed her.  I allowed myself to ponder the gift of her life? In that moment, the answer became clear. Her gift to me was a deep love and abiding spiritual companionship. With a sureness of heart, in that moment I realized neither had died. Both still exist and will endure through eternity.

In time, the image of Jesus and the others at the table faded, but I knew they were still near. It was then that I noticed a word carved by the hand of the craftsman into the back of each chair.  Each word appeared to rise from the surface and spring towards me, not unlike the special effects in a three-dimensional movie. The words shimmered before me. Grace. . .Grace. . .Grace. Seven times I saw Grace.

I didn't want to leave the table, but it was time to depart. I left the clearing in peace, knowing my loved ones were together and relishing memories of their dinner party in the garden. I looked back only once to say good-bye. 

“Take care, dear one,” I said to my child. “Have fun. Your joy brings me pleasure.  I look forward to joining you someday. Though the coming days may seem endless without your physical presence, I will remember your words spoken to me in the psalm, ‘One day all will seem as a dream’.”

No longer drawn to take the path towards the cemetery at the edge of the woods, I instead walked through the center of the garden and on towards the church. On the ground as I approached the back corner of the white board structure, I stumbled upon a weather-worn slab of stone that perhaps marks the grave of an early parishioner. The name and dates were eroded by time and obscured by fallen leaves. Only three words were visible. I left the garden that morning knowing the three words preserved for the ages by the stone mason that spoke of a healing miracle of Jesus were a gift of the garden meant especially for me. 

What were the words chiseled in stone? 

“Your Daughter Lives”  

Reflections:

“In my father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so I would have told you.  I go to prepare a place for you.”

In order to hear the voice of God, or see the handiwork of the Holy, we must be willing to invite the intruder named “could it be” into the sterile home of “logical” existence. Bunny Cox

‎“To be open to the miraculous is to be open to impossible things becoming possible.”~Roy Howard

“We are all of us from birth to death quests at a table we did not spread. The sun, the earth, love, friends, our very breath are parts of the banquet. Shall we think of the days as a chance to come to nearer to our host and to find out something of him who has fed us so long?”~Rebecca Harding Harris

“Sometimes what seems to be the end is really just a new beginning, like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly.”~Unknown

-Who are the special people in my life?  What are their gifts to me? What have they taught me?

-What are my thoughts about miracles? Do I believe miracles can happen?

-Have I had a spiritual experience that defies explanation? If so, what happened?


-"In my father's house there are many mansions. . ." What are my thoughts about this statement?