by Breezycycle

Created on: November 23, 2009   Last Updated: February 20, 2010

On Sunday mornings when I was a child, I could look down through all the back yards on the street and see, one by one, each Dad backing the  family station wagon out the driveway and then heading  his family toward church services. My grandmother and I spent time in her gardent.

"My garden is my church," my grandmother would remind me when she saw me watching those cars back out of their driveways  on Sunday mornings . Grandmother and I felt peaceful and close to God in my grandmother's church, her lovely flower and vegetable garden. Thinking back to those Sunday mornings in her , makes me want to bow my head in prayer.

My grandmother, her friends called her Nell, usually hummed when she gardened. It was a happy hum. On Sundays, though, she sang her hymns in a low voice and when I knew the words, I would join in. After a while, I knew many hymns. That was a lot of Sundays.

"You know, Gretchen, hymns are poems," my grandmother said. "Listen to the rhythm and the picture the hymn paints in your mind. Just like a poem.

I remember  that I did not understand  that at first.

"And it's time you learned a poem. I remember the poems I learned when I was a young girl, just your age," my grandmother said. I was listening, but I was also swinging on the branch of our old apple tree, back and forth.

That steady rhythm seemed just right for learning a poem, words with rhythm. Every Sunday morning, after my grandmother was finished singing her hymns, she'd say, "O.K., Gretchen. Let's see how you are doing with Garden Thoughts."

I was in constant motion, and my movement helped the words of the poem I was learning flow like vanilla ice cream melting in my mouth on a summer day. I would start right in:

The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.

"Let's give credit to the woman who wrote that poem,Dorothy Frances Gurney. Her "Garden Thoughts" is my favorite and you have done a fine job learning her poem." My grandmother applauded, her gardening gloves keeping her applause silent. I could tell by the smile on her face that she loved hearing me say that poem and she had a look that was like..... being grateful.

Isn't it the most peaceful poem, you ever heard?" my grandmother asked. She'd close her eyes for a moment, kind of like when she was praying. There was a bit of swaying too, that always made me smile as I looked at my grandmother on her knees,

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