A few nights after the loss of my father-in-law, I lay awake in bed, verses running through my head. I’m not a poet… but I couldn’t sleep until I wrote them down.
I ran across the yard tonight, my heart heavy from the pain.
It mattered not the hour, nor the gentle falling rain.
I paused before his garden, grief flowing down my face.
And watched with awe and wonder, as his garden did the same.
Every stalk was bent like a sorrowful head, each blossom closed up tight.
The leaves they clung like praying hands, in the quiet of the night.
It was here I knew I’d find the gardener, in each plant and inch of soil.
For it was here he loved to labor, here he’d sweat and toil.
They say the trees and rocks cry out to God, if no one will praise.
But does the soil weep for one, though mortal, just the same?
Will it mourn the loss of the one who knelt and worked with loving hands?
And cry because the life that cared, has met its earthly end?
I stood beside the garden, tears flowing unashamed.
And thought about the gentle soul, now released from hurt and pain.
He’s past from our eyes but not our hearts…our sight but not our souls.
And though we miss him greatly, we are glad that he is home.
And now the two of them shall walk, in gardens in the sky.
The Maker and the gardener, strolling side by side.
One day I’ll go to join them, one day, I too will be free.
But for now, whenever I need them…in the garden they will be.