Garden Memories
jo Crosby
I close my eyes, and I see Mary Morrow York, my grandma, singing. I can hear her with my heart. In my memory, she’s always singing hymns. Often, I go to the memory of her singing hymns in church. She sits near the back on the right and to the right of my Papa; I’m between them. Even in memory, I know I’ll get pinched on the knee if I talk. It is a pinch with just enough pressure to sting my tongue into silence. She's always standing straight in a clean, stylish dress sewn with her own hands. Her hair has been pin curled for Sunday. She used the hymnal, but by the time I was old enough to sit between them, she had long known all the words to each verse. I knew and know this, because she sang the words from her core – her gut. Her heart. They were not mere words bouncing off the flat page and rolling off the tip of her tongue. The words held meaning to her. My grandma worshipped, and it shaped me.
An amazing woman. Oh, how I loved her! Grandma filled many of my spring and summer days with the garden. I am shaped by memories of eating fresh figs from the tree, peeling garden pans full of ripened tomatoes used for canning, shelling every kind of pea that grows in south Georgia, and picking blackberries for fresh cobbler.
Her kitchen was my favorite bakery. She created all kinds of sugared confections. A fresh cake was a staple in her kitchen. A true seamstress, she made sundresses from light, cotton cloth in colored patterns. I recall they would barely touch skin, and they hung perfectly on my shoulders. They kept me cool and cute in the sweaty heat of June, July, and August.
My grandma sewed. Cooked. Canned. Baked. Crocheted. Cleaned. Created. Loved. She was an accomplished, wonderful woman. Yet, it is her singing and her gardening that line my heart’s memory like gold. It is the memory that I pull most frequently. She taught me to see God’s beauty in a flowerpot, and she sang hymns of his faithfulness. She sang of his love. She sang straight into my heart so often that the words took root. And, 35 years after she told me goodbye, I can still hear her voice and see her sing. This hymn was one of her favorites:
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.
Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!
Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.
Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!”
Great is the Faithfulness, written by Thomas Obediah Chisholm
Looking out at the lilies this morning, I smiled to see a fat, morning dove pecking underneath the scapes and leaves. That site is unusual in my garden. I poured coffee, grabbed my camera and went outside to join the day. As I photographed, my heart filled, and I found myself humming, Great is thy Faithfulness. I instantly thought of my grandma. The humming message was so clear and pretty in thought that I posted an image to social media using part of the verse. As I settled with more coffee to read from the devotion I’m working through, I smile extra big to see the key verse today is Lamentations 3: 22-23, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
How could words written from Jeremiah’s heart, sang from my grandmother’s lips, and penned from A. Voscamp for this day and this time find their way into the hum of my heart? God. God and his faithful love. Spoiling me with the glimpse of a morning dove. Ever reminding me that he is present. He sees me. He sings. And, he writes a long, beautiful love story to his children. To his beloved. To me. He writes love each day new; yet it’s inclusive of all that was and all that ever will be.
God’s message of faithfulness began in my young heart at my grandma’s side. Through the years, it has woven its way into my core. Lamentations 3 is dog-eared in my Bible, and I can see God’s beauty in a flowerpot and his splendor in a lily’s petal. Great is his faithfulness is written on my soul.
Perhaps today, you need God’s word. Listen with your heart. His love is lavish. His faithfulness is without end.
The cooing of the morning dove greets the day, and I am not the only one he spoils!
Blessings,
Jo
