My grandmother’s favorite scripture was the 23rd Psalm, probably the most popular poem in the history of the Bible. I didn’t understand her choice when I was young. I was so wrapped up in my life, I couldn’t see Grandy’s struggles. We lost her when I was in high school, and it’s only now as a parent that I can look back and see beyond the chicken and dumplings, fried pies, the crochet hook as she taught me to weave one thread, to a few of her trials–and her refuges.
Today I plant flag lilies given to me by my aunt who had them from my Granny. I loosen the clay soil, turn in pine shavings, peat moss, and compost, my recipe to help the plants survive and thrive in a land hard packed, weed strewn, inhospitable.
Today I read “The Lord is my shepherd”
Not was, not may be, nor will be. “The Lord is my shepherd,” is on Sunday, is on Monday, and is through every day of the week; is in January, is in December, and every month of the year; is at home, and is in China; is in peace, and, is in war; in abundance, and in penury. –J. Hudson Taylor
Today I feel my grandmother as near as our God who connects us both in faith, in Spirit, in the garden, in eternity.