My Sacred Garden

I remember watching The Secret Garden for the first time and seeing Mary pull back the ivy only to discover a door with a lock that would need a key to open it. She was determined to find the key and when she did, she returned to the gate, pushed the door open, and saw a large English garden that had been neglected for years. She made friends with Dickon, and the two of them would return to their secret garden for weeks where they would work with their hands, clean the garden and hear the birds chirping from the top of the brick walls. The garden became beautiful over time, with spring flowers shooting up through the earth's soil, the leaves returning to the trees, and the once forgotten garden had been given the attention it needed and was now full of life.

I loved the idea of a secret garden. An unsuspecting entrance to an intimate place where I could be without distraction, work with the soil, flowers, and invite others to enjoy the space with me. 

As I walked through the backyard of a potential property for the first time, I approached an overgrown area of the yard where like Mary, I pulled the branches out of the way and made my way through, only to discover an area of the yard that was somehow hidden from the rest. It wasn't formal with brick walls, it didn't have beautifully groomed hedges or proper flower beds, but it was an hidden and intimate place that I could see as my very own secret garden. 

I felt like Mary with my very own bit of earth. I worked tirelessly pruning bushes back, removing dead branches from the trees, filling up bags and more bags of leaves that had fallen and never been picked up. I cleaned out the trash from the once upon a time irrigation canal, mowed the lawn, built a flagstone area and brought in a table and chairs, hung flower baskets from the fence, added bird houses and a couple statues, one of which is a little girl with her arms stretched out with birds on her arms named, "Basking in God's Glory." I placed an arbor with doors at the once overgrown entrance, and slowly, my garden became magical. There were times that I felt Dickon would show up, or that a fox would come out of the bushes. I would hear birds chirping, deer would walk through, and not a single distraction from the world. The blossoms on the trees grew to be apples and plums, grape hyacinths rose from the soil, and my garden was alive and cared for again. It was my happy place. 

My garden was for special occasions, because it was special. I would invite friends and family to my garden. There I would spoil and dote over my guests with beautifully set tables, tiers of delicious food, tea pots full of lemonade, beautiful tea cups and saucers, and fresh flowers. Always fresh flowers. I loved planning and preparing these events. I loved all the little details that went into my parties. My happy place was also a happy place for others and I loved sharing it. Only wonderful things happened there. 

My mom loved my garden. She had helped me that first summer after purchasing the house. The world was in the middle of a pandemic and she was going through colon cancer. My yard and garden gave her a sense of purpose and she loved seeing me so happy. She loved checking in with me every day to see what I had done and what progress I was making. She would help how she could. We would stop for lunch and eat under the big tree every day. She was my biggest cheerleader and loved seeing me tackle such an overwhelming project knowing that it was bringing me so much joy. 

She loved attending my parties and hearing about them when she couldn't. 

My mom's cancer returned three years later. One summer day I had a garden themed tea for all the girls in my family. I wanted this to be special so I hung wisteria from the trees, strung banners, and had tiers of garden themed finger foods. Knowing my mom had just begun chemotherapy three days earlier and how it affected her appetite and mouth, my sister and I made sure to have a special little tier of bland foods just for her. She didn't feel well that day, but sat with us out in the garden. We all wore hats, and had fun being together. That was the last time my mom was in my secret garden. She was gone 20 days later.

When I returned to the garden for the first time after losing her, I was just sad. There was nothing magical about it. I was grieving the loss of my mom and I felt like I was grieving the loss of my garden that had had so much meaning to me and brought me so much joy. I looked around and it looked more like a graveyard than a secret garden. Once a beloved angel statue in the shrubs now looked like a headstone. The little girl statue of  "Basking in God's Glory" also looked like a statue in a cemetery. I stood there for several minutes wondering if I even wanted the house anymore. The Spirit touched my heart as I looked around again, I knew that my mom would never want me to be sad there, that it could still be my happy place. I would need to figure out how to do that. I looked around the garden again and my eyes were drawn to where the sun peeked through the trees onto the little girl with her arms reaching out with birds resting on them. Of course. She was my sweet mom. Who for the last four years had chosen to let God prevail in her life despite what might happen to her through her cancer journey. She was free now. And the birds. Really? They weren't just birds. They were sparrows. Just one week before my mom's passing, she introduced me to the hymn, "His Eye Is On the Sparrow." I had given all of my siblings one day's notice to learn the song so that we could sing it to my mom on her birthday. My mom, so frail, and suffering so much, and barely having the strength to even spit out a few words, was there doing her best at singing along with us, particularly the part, "I sing because I'm happy." It was special and such a sacred experience. All of my mom's posterity stood, turned around and faced the congregation at her funeral and sang, "His Eye Is On the Sparrow" together. It was beautiful. As I looked at that girl with her arms stretched out basking in God's glory with sparrows on her arms, I knew that the Lord was aware of me. He was so aware of me. My mom was there in my secret garden, my happy place. I was happy. 

Another visit to the garden that summer I noticed that my large apple tree in the corner of the yard was dying and that it needed to come down. My dad came and helped me cut down the tree, branch by branch, then the stump, and leveled it to the ground. I loved that corner of the garden with the large apple tree that lent great shade to the table and chairs. Losing the tree was more than losing the shade. It was another loss. As my dad and I were removing the branches I noticed my large gold band ring fly off my finger. {The one D made me while in dental school.}We stopped what we were doing to look for the ring. We looked and looked. Not my ring too? That was too much. Word got out to my family that I had lost my ring. So many family members showed up and we looked for over an hour together scouring the ground for that one of a kind ring. People reached out to friends that owned metal detectors and returned back to the garden to keep looking. It wasn't expensive, but it couldn’t be replaced. The family was happy for me when after a few days looking, my ring was found right where we had all looked over and over. It was overwhelming watching my family band together in a cause without my mom instigating it. It was special. It was in my garden. 

My brother, seeing the large pile of tree debris in the garden, offered to bring his family over to help remove it for me. While we were all working together, I recognized my mom there. She wasn't there really, but seeing my brother and his selfless young family there serving me, was what my mother had always said about him. My mom would usually reach out to him and say how I had so much to get rid of and ask if he would be willing to bring over his trailer and take it to the dump for me. He had done that for me without my mom asking. It was at that very moment that my secret garden was more than that. It was my sacred garden. 

Seasons have come and gone since she left because time never stops even though your world seems to. She was more than just my mom. She was my best friend. The last thing she said to me was, “Thanks for being my buddy.” I had seen her decline and even told her I was ok for her to go. Yet, somehow it doesn’t seem real that she’s gone. There are times I cry out telling her how badly I miss her. Other times I’m pleading for her to help me. How do you live without the person that knows your heart inside and out, your testimony of God and His goodness, your biggest cheerleader, and bestie? No one in the world knows or could even understand the relationship we had. And then…

I saw Him in the Garden praying there for me.

The grief I’ve felt, I saw it. Running through His veins.

As I held back the branches I watched Him secretly.

It happened in the Garden, in Gethsemane.

There He was on His knees.

Willing to suffer so that He might succor me.

I felt so foolish, once stating, “No one in the world.”

When the Savior does, He knows me perfectly.

I then left the Garden and cried out to Thee, 

“I’m thankful for my garden and what it means to me.”

Sweet memories of my mother.

All the girls out having tea.

My family searching for something special

My brother serving me.

It started with a garden, 

once opened with a key.

And now my eyes are open.

Yes, I know Heavenly Father loves me.

I love that my Secret Garden became my Sacred Garden. My garden never needed a key and either does the power of the Savior's Atonement. It's always there, a sacred place where we can meet Him.