The Alan Garden

It's been ten years since I've been here. Not that I've been away from my garden, but its whispering can grow silent when we get too busy to listen.

2020. My life ended. My dear husband of 45 years was struck by a silent unknown enemy, Covid. We didn't even know anything about it, and neither did the doctors that tried to determine what caused this giant to fall. 10 days and it was over, and life changed forever. Grayness. But God was waiting for me, in His usual place, the 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.

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.

 A year earlier, a tree in our wild back yard had snapped in two, its top landing in our giant maple. In the course of removing all the debris, we began clearing 40 years of ivy growing in our forested back yard. By summer's end, we had a beautiful backyard park. Of course, lights were required! Alan set to work lighting up the beautiful cedars. This became his work of art. It was so right that it should become his memorial garden.

Now two years have passed. The searing pain of loss has subsided. The winter in my soul is making way for spring. A new season is beginning!

His daughters and I added a fern table, a dry creek, some Japanese maples and rhodies. The giant cedars remind me of God's eternal love, and how small I am in this beautiful world.

This garden calls to me. God meets with me here. It is a breathless, beautiful, sacred place. In the midnight hours, it is most precious, and it beckons me to come and listen to its music.