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.....
This was my grandmothers' favorite song and when I hear it, I always think of her!
In life, she loved her garden and her birds. Roses were her favorite!
I remember when I was growing up of watching her toil in her garden. The smell of her home was always filled with vases of fresh, cut flowers; these childhood smells that seem to linger through life, long after the days of youth have passed.
Grandma was also a talented painter. Flowers and birds meandered about on her painted trays and reverse paintings on glass.
My first "painting" at about the age of 8, was a paint by number, of a vase of roses. She was so proud of that painting and promptly displayed it by her bedside. It wasn't until after her death, when I took the painting down, that I realized that of all the beautiful artwork that lavished the rooms of her home, that my painting was the first painting she saw every morning when she awoke!
She was my mentor. At about the age of 10, she taught and painted with me, my first, reverse painting on glass of a rose.
Years have passed by now, and from time to time and in the most unlikely of places, the smell of roses encompasses me. It's my sweet grandma... I just know it is!
It's her, reassuring me, that she's closer than I realize!
These roses I painted, are always memories of you, Grandma, and the happy times we shared!
Until we meet in His garden.....
Love and miss you always!