Memory Lane: Moon Garden

      Sitting outside. The Moon is full -- it even hurts my eyes looking at its brightness. The air is still cool, not yet filled with the thickness of summer's humidity. I'm on the square slab of cement we call a back porch. Mom has been working hard on our boarder garden (all around the porch are culinary herbs of every kind.) The lavender and sage turn a lighting-white silver in the moonlight. Lemon balm offers a sticky-sweat lemony candy aroma. Corsican mint brings a lush, thick ground cover.

     Everything is so alive. Spring still has its fingers wrapped around the garden. The less established plants are dwarfed by the bush-like largeness of the older plants, but the bright green of new growth cannot be hidden by the darkness. I look over the yard. There are two trees on the boarder of our property... I remember when the branches of one touched my head when I sat under it. It is much larger now; I'd have to reach up on my tiptoes to reach the lowest branches now... in fact, I might have to jump.

     Mom and Dad are with me. Mom wanted to enjoy the cool air after working hard in the sun all afternoon. It's 10pm now, and a little bit of what will become the morning's dew can be smelled in the air. Dad brought his acoustic bass outside; its brushed, black top turns white in the full moon's light. He's playing with a few different techniques and grumbling about the "invisible" fret markers. The little dots, marking the neck of the guitar, were painted nearly black on a black guitar... he was justified in his moaning, but it still made us laugh. Brilliant music, when he could find the right notes.

     I had my little acoustic guitar. I was working in an alternate tuning (double drop D) and finger picking some classic rock favorites of mine. Sometimes my fingers would stumble or get themselves tangled up -- much to my audio dismay. Dad would pause each time and allow my to regain my dexterity before resuming our music.

     Mom would sing when she knew the words or snap her fingers when she didn't.

     And all of us were happy.

     There are those few moments when we get to spend time in a moment and really live in that moment. These are the times when our soul soaks-in everything about that moment: smells, sounds, feelings, colors... Those points freeze into our minds and stay with us. These beautiful times are gifts from God -- gifts to be remembered during the hard times.

     My friend gave me wonderful advise to remember during those moments of pain and hurt. "Think of one thing that brought you happiness. It doesn't have to be big -- it can be small. Like the color of a flower or the smell of your favorite food."

     I'm a person that notices details -- at least I try to. Simple things like the type of font in a particular book, the number of points on a leaf, bubbles in boiling water, drawing faces in a foggy mirror after a shower, mugs of tea... each of these are precious gifts from God. These bring us little glimmers of hope when the world seems to be nothing but darkness.

     But God brings us hope through our memories.