Every church I attended when I was growing up had the Gospel Hymnal with all the songs numbered to help people find them quickly. We all knew Number 60 was The Old Rugged Cross. Dad’s favorite was No. 234, Children of the Heavenly Father, a traditional Swedish hymn that he preferred to sing in Swedish. For Mom, it was Higher Ground and for some reason I cannot remember its number for certain, though I think it was 117. Mine was number 15 – 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.

That songs speaks to the ecstatic experience – which though associated with faith can be experienced by anyone in the presence of absolute beauty. I remember the first time I had such a moment. I was six and visiting my sister and her family. We were at the Falls and exploring this garden that had a floral clock and the mist rose up from the falls making everything and everyone fall away. It seemed I was a alone in a fog of flowers. I stopped still and remember wondering if it was real or if I were dreaming. It was a profound experience, a kind of joy born solely out of beauty. I remember feeling the same way when I was a senior in high school and sitting in the gardens of the Alhambra. I was resting alone in a gazebo made of bougainvillea, sketching the fountain in front of me and suddenly the sunlight struck the water drops in such a way they seemed like prisms, radiating color in the air. It took my breath away and I again felt that strange feeling of unreality, a sort of “pinch me, I must be dreaming” moment, except you would never want to pinch yourself out of such joy. Continue reading →