garden

Susan and I have a soft spot in our hearts for nurses… especially since our daughter Kinsey is one. We have also seen the huge difference a nurse can make in health struggles throughout the years. As Susan’s mom Lou left the hospital to go home, twelve days before she passed away, a nurse told us a beautiful story.

We had already fallen in love with this nurse because she had fallen in love with Lou. Sincere care is not easily faked. We knew Angelica had a special place in her heart for Lou, who was alert but not able to fully communicate because of a stroke. Angelica said to Susan that last day in the hospital, “Your mom and I sang together after breakfast this morning.”

Susan’s family is not exactly known for singing, so this was an interesting comment. “What did you sing?” we asked. “She wanted to sing an Elvis song so that’s what we did.” “An Elvis song?” we asked as I was trying to picture Angelica and Lou singing Jailhouse Rock or some other catchy tune. “You know,” she replied, “the one that says, He walks with me and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own.

Two weeks later, a congregation of family and brothers and sisters in Christ sang this hymn about sweet fellowship as we honored Lou Taylor.

I Come To The Garden Alone by C. Austin Miles

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.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing
And the melody that He gives to me,
Within my heart is ringing.

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.

I’d stay in the garden with Him,
Tho’ the night around me be falling
But He bids me go: thru the 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.

“Awake, north wind, and come, south wind! Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread abroad. Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” Song of Songs 4:16

This entry was posted in hope. Bookmark the permalink.