In the Garden

metal point, 2.5” x 5”

This January, an incredible woman went to walk in a garden that she sang about ever since I can remember. I used both silver and copper on a painted ground within a sketchbook. Highlights were added with white charcoal.

Barbara Phillips will always be a pillar of strength and incredible faith to me.

The phone number 539-2669 was my 911 as a child. I knew whose voice I would hear on the other end.

It was a highlight of my childhood to visit her at work, and type on her typewriter at the Huntsville City Schools Board Front Office.

When I was an adult, it was at her kitchen table that I found myself in tears when I no longer knew how to carry the weight of my mother’s illness and related responsibilities. But I left there feeling we would be OK.

Years later, as my grandmother’s memory began to dim, I slowly began a different path of grief as we traveled this journey. She is such a huge part of who I am and also who I strive to be.

To meet my grandmother was to be loved by her. She cared quietly for so many people.

She brought joy into every room, and I’m still amazed at her fortitude. Her life was not free of sorrow, and yet somehow she never let it pull her down.

I knew if I was on her “prayer list”, then I was covered.

I find myself thinking of her good cheer more and more. I hope I can mirror just a small reflection of it somehow.

My Oma and grandma at my great grandmother’s in Germany. They are washing dishes at a table which housed a hidden feature to pull out in which to place the two bowls, she would use as sinks.

In the Garden

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!

He speaks and the sound of His voice,

Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,

And the melody that he gave to me,

Within my heart is ringing . . .

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!

And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other, has ever, known!

Words and Music by C. Austin Miles, 1912