When I was a girl all four of my mom's grandparents were still alive. I have many memories of them and I consider it a gift that I knew them as well as I did. My mom's mom's mom I especially remember: her light red hair, her knobby hands, the colorful popcorn balls she'd make, sitting in her little living room and looking at her little knick-knacks.
When she died they sang "In the Garden" at her funeral. Ever since I have associated that song with her and with the loss and grief we felt once she was gone.
Recently, several events have happened in my family's private life, one right after the other, and all have left me feeling like the rug was pulled out from underneath us. Some of the things happening have left me worried and sad, others have left me hurt and angry. All together, I've been a bit of a beat up mess for a couple of months now, though probably only my husband would know it.
For the most part I don't know how to deal with the situations at hand. I suspect I just need to make my way through it all and time will take care of the details, so that's been my mode of operation.
And then, a couple of weeks ago, came a special break from it all. A friend invited me to attend the local Avett Brothers' concert, her treat. She had an extra ticket and was pretty sure I was the only one of her friends who knows who the band is, let alone enjoys their music.
It was a thrill.
I suppose it was a bit of a relief for me, a night away where I didn't have to think or talk about anything hard. I could just listen to the music... until a specific song in the night.
When those three men stood in a spotlight and sang "In the Garden" tears sat in my eyes and a lump sat in my throat.
I'd stay in the garden with Him tho the night around me be falling. But He bids me go through a voice of woe. His voice to me is calling, 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.
And that about sums it up, folks.
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