Come to the Garden

by Jennifer Wilder Morgan

  “It took some practice, mostly to remember to pray, but I began that very day talking to God as if he were my friend. And I discovered that Reverend Graham’s advice really was simple. I gave God thanks for the things I had, the people I loved, and asked him for help with the problems I had—some silly school stuff, and some not so silly stuff.

  “When I was fourteen, my grandfather, a physician, noticed a lump in my neck and talked to my father, also a physician, about it. I ended up seeing a surgeon who recommended surgery because it might be cancer. My mother had recently lost her best friend to breast cancer, so the word ‘cancer’ and the thought of possibly having it scared the living daylights out of me. I was so glad to be able to talk to God about it, and I did, a lot. The night before I had to go to the hospital, I lay in my pretty little twin bed and prayed. I was really scared, and yet a wonderful peace came over me while I prayed. It felt as if someone had their arms around me, and I knew I would be okay, no matter what the outcome was. I was actually able to go to sleep that night. The surgery went on as scheduled, and doctors successfully removed a benign growth from my thyroid gland. No cancer.

  “What helped me the most was being able to talk to God through the whole process, and I began to have an assurance that he was listening. I owe my heartfelt thanks to Reverend Graham for taking the time to answer a young girl’s question. It made a monumental difference in my life.”

  Margaret sat very still for a moment and then looked at me, her blue eyes misting with tears. “It did make a monumental difference, Jennifer, because once you learned how to pray with the assurance that God was listening to you, you were ready to learn two-way communication with the Almighty—to learn how to listen to him. You were very fortunate indeed to have had the guidance of Billy Graham. He has used his anointing well and has prayerfully led millions of souls to the throne of our precious Lord. And, child, no one knows better than our Lord the value of prayer. While Jesus was here on earth, he relied on prayer to keep in constant touch with his Heavenly Father.

  “So, my dear girl, as you began to talk to our Father in heaven with heartfelt innocence and expectation, he was whispering back to you. Listen closely . . . he has never stopped whispering this prayer:

  “I love to hear from you, my beloved child. I am always listening, hoping to hear your sweet voice. From your lips to my heart.”

  A wistful sigh escaped Margaret’s lips as she continued. “How I wish all of God’s children knew how dearly he wants to hear from them each day. His heart longs to hear from his beloved, no matter what time of the day or night.”

  Margaret smiled at me, and as she did, I began to detect the scent of white roses in the air again.

  “I am going to leave you for a while and let you get on with your day. After all, it is your birthday. Go celebrate with your friends. I expect you will have lots to tell them.” She winked knowingly.

  Disappointment seeped into my heart.

  Margaret sensed my disappointment and gave me an amused look. “Oh my, don’t worry, Jenn. I am not nearly through with you yet. We have much, much more to discuss. Have a wonderful day, and I will return here at sunset. Will you meet me out here then?”

  “Of course I will,” I replied.

  “Until tonight, then.” She blew me a kiss and walked out into the backyard, her gown shimmering until she disappeared into thin air.

  I stood and stared for a moment at the space Margaret had just occupied, missing her already. I have always longed for the hours of my birthday to stretch out endlessly, wanting to savor every moment. But today I could hardly wait for nightfall.

  Ask, Seek, Knock

  And I tell you, ask and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened.

  LUKE 11:9–10

  I headed excitedly toward the cozy corner table in my favorite Italian restaurant, where my two dearest friends, Linney and Grace, waited. It wouldn’t feel like my birthday if I didn’t celebrate with them. As I approached, I was greeted with big hugs and happy birthday wishes.

  “You are glowing, Jenn,” said Grace.

  “Yeah,” agreed Linney, “you must have received something pretty special for your birthday.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I replied. “Sit down, girls, because I have something extraordinary to share with you.”

  After ordering our lunch, Linney and Grace leaned forward, eager to hear what I was so excited about. As I told them about waking up to the scent of roses and discovering an angel named Margaret in my garden, I observed two very different reactions. Grace’s eyes got bigger and bigger as she listened, and a huge smile spread across her face. She soaked in every word. But Linney sat quietly, her big blue eyes puddled with tears. My heart sank, because I got the feeling she didn’t quite believe me . . . maybe she was even feeling a little sorry for me . . . or, maybe for herself. That familiar fear of sharing rose up inside me again. I really did not want one of my dearest friends to think I was “one of those” . . . someone who got carried away with an overactive imagination—someone who believed in things unseen.

  As I finished my story, Grace talked nonstop about how wonderful this birthday gift was from God. Finally, Linney reached over, took my hand, and spoke, interrupting Grace. “Jenn, I can see that you really believe what you experienced is real. I just don’t know what to think. I’ve never experienced anything like this, and I need a little time to process what you just told us. I really want to believe you, but an angel in your garden? Really?” She sighed, gave my hand a gentle squeeze, and continued. “I’ll tell you what. I’m just going to be happy for you, because I love you.”

  Her sweet words made me smile. Her friendship, and Grace’s, meant the world to me. I privately wondered which reaction I would encounter more frequently in the future if I continued to share my Divine encounters with others. I suspected it might be more like Linney’s. Margaret was right, I acknowledged quietly to myself. This desire I have to tell others about my experiences is going to take a lot of courage.

  Grace’s chatter brought me out of my thoughts as she asked, “Do you think we could come over and meet Margaret?”

  Her question gave me pause. I had no idea if they would be able to see and talk with Margaret as I did. I said that I would leave it up to Margaret.

  Soon our conversation turned to our husbands, and I felt slightly guilty I had not yet been able to tell Guy about my amazing visitation. I hoped with all my heart that he would at least be receptive. As the afternoon hours began to slip toward evening, the three of us reluctantly parted with many hugs and promises to reconvene often for lunch and to speak of miracles—or at least the possibility of miracles.

  A trio of happy pups enthusiastically greeted me at the door as I got home. Their love was such a gift in my life. It is no wonder to me that the word dog is God spelled backward. I puttered in the kitchen for a while and set out some food to thaw for dinner—it would be a late meal as Guy had an end-of-day meeting that could not be rearranged.

  Finally, I began to count the minutes until the arrival of sunset, when my angel was to return. At the appointed hour, I stepped out onto the patio. No Margaret, yet. The evening air was still quite warm, so I sat down at the pool’s edge and dangled my bare legs in the cool water. Slowly moving my legs back and forth, creating big swirls in the water, I thought about my morning conversations with Margaret. As my wise angel friend had led me systematically through the ways I experienced God during the various stages of my young life, it had become evident that he had been a consistent part of my life since before I was born. What a delicious truth! I began to see reflections of orange and pink in the swirls of blue water, and I lifted my face to the sky.

  Tonight’s sunset was breathtaking. Huge streaks of brilliant, fiery orange and pink raced across the sky as if they had been finger painted on a vast canvas with a giant hand. The love
ly view brought to mind a saying I had heard somewhere before: “The sunrise is God’s greeting, and the sunset is his signature.” I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer of thanks for such a beautiful signature to the end of a very special birthday.

  A sudden movement in the air next to me caused my eyes to snap open. There was Margaret, sitting next to me, dangling her legs in the water next to mine!

  “Did you enjoy your time with your friends today?” Margaret asked.

  I nodded, my heart thrilled at her return. I told her about my conversation with Linney and Grace, and of their different reactions.

  “You were right, Margaret,” I said. “Some people have a very hard time believing what they have not experienced for themselves . . . or believing in something they cannot see. That made me wonder . . . would my friends be able to see you?”

  Margaret shook her head. “No, child, they would not. You, and your sweet pups, are the only ones who can see me. This journey of discovery we are on was designed for your eyes and ears only, because it is your story. And, once you begin to share your story, you will open the eyes and ears of many others. I assure you, those who seek the truth will find it,” she added with a knowing smile.

  We sat together, watching the colors of the sky deepen, adding hues of lavender and purple. The soft swirls of water reflected pink, orange, blue, lavender, and purple, mixing gently like an artist’s watercolor palette.

  “A beautiful sunset, isn’t it, Jenn?” Margaret asked.

  “I couldn’t think of a more perfect ending to today,” I agreed with a quiet sigh. “God truly has had his hand on this day, from beginning to end. It began with a house filled with the scent of white roses, then your miraculous appearance, and now it ends with this gorgeous sunset.”

  “Mm . . . ” Margaret replied, nodding in blissful agreement. She leaned down, scooped up some water, and let it trickle back into the pool through her fingers. I watched as her whole body began to shimmer and glow with a soft light. The large drops falling from her fingers formed ever-expanding rings in the water, which also began to shimmer with this mysterious luminescence.

  Margaret looked at me and said tenderly, “Tonight’s sunset carries with it the promise of a new sunrise—a new beginning.” She reached over and cupped my face in her hands, the luminescent water wetting my cheeks as it dripped from her fingers. Then she said softly, “Jesus said, ‘Those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life.’

  “I was a witness, dear child, to a new beginning for you as you made the most important decision of your young life and jumped heart first into the waters of eternal life. Our Heavenly Prince remembers so fondly the moment you opened your heart and your life to him and the joy it brought to all of us in heaven. He would like for you to share that story with me now.”

  I felt a thrill of excitement run up and down my spine. I couldn’t think of a better ending to this precious day than to tell my angel friend about the events leading to that day long ago when my heart was changed forever.

  “When I was in the eighth grade, my family attended the beautiful Old Stone Church in Cleveland, Ohio. That year I enrolled in communicants’ class. This class prepared young people to officially join the church, declare Christ as Savior, and receive communion at a ceremony held on Maundy Thursday. Our minister was a fiery redhead—a former Canadian fisherman, if my memory serves me correctly—and oh, could he preach! He had a deep love for the Lord, and you could feel his passion in his sermons. I often sat listening to him and thought it would be so nice to have such a passion for God, but it just was not there for me yet. Pleasant and lovely feelings, yes, but passion? No.

  “I completed my communicant’s curriculum with my fellow classmates and was formally initiated into the church. I still have the little white Bible presented to me by a dear family friend on that special day. Being able to take Communion with my parents and all of the adult church members from that day forward was a great privilege. But something still seemed to be missing. I wasn’t feeling the passion I had expected. When I heard people speak of their personal relationships with Christ, I kind of scratched my head. Huh? Personal relationship? I just didn’t get it.”

  At this, a very unangel-like snort erupted beside me. I looked over to see Margaret again with both hands pressed firmly over her mouth, lest she dare let out any more sounds. Her eyes were squinched tightly shut and her shoulders bobbed up and down.

  Good grief. I sighed to myself. She obviously knew me pretty well—there are lots of times I just don’t get it. My husband derives much amusement in hearing me say “I don’t get it!” after a joke he has just told.

  “Hey, Margaret,” I said to her, “a little support here, please. I am getting to the part where I finally got it!”

  “So sorry,” she said in a quivering voice, obviously still trying to rein in her glee. “Please continue.”

  “Okay. Let’s fast-forward to the summer of 1974, when my family traveled to our annual vacation destination in Traverse City, Michigan. My father shut down his busy medical practice for two weeks, and he and my mother packed our family and supplies into the station wagon and made the eight-hour drive to our log cabin on the bay of Lake Michigan. Oh, how we all loved it there! Sandy beaches, pine forests, beautiful, cold, clear water, a raft to swim out to . . . and our cousins. My aunt Adrienne and uncle Don and their family traveled to Traverse City from Indiana every year at the same time for a three-week stay. It was such fun to have this time to be together. This particular year, things were a little different. As our two weeks came to a close, one of my older teenage cousins wanted to go home with my family to take in some Cleveland Indians baseball games, and I wanted to stay an extra week at the beach. So we worked out a trade. My cousin would go to Cleveland, and I would stay with Adrienne and Don and family for an extra week, and then we would make a kid exchange somewhere in between Ohio and Indiana.

  “My aunt and uncle were accomplished sailors and had their red-and-white sailboat with them. Every day during that extra week, they took me sailing out on the bay. I remember being very afraid of the deep, blue water, knowing it was way over my head. Uncle Don, formerly an engineer, had responded to God’s calling in his life and had become pastor of an Indiana church. While we sailed, he told me a story from the Bible about when Jesus was in the boat with his disciples, who were also afraid. He told me about how Jesus calmed them and calmed the storm. I learned a lot about Jesus in the days that followed. I felt my heart changing, kind of like how in Dr. Seuss’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes bigger in one day! My little white Bible was filling up with notes and underlined scriptures. I could not get enough of this wonderful Jesus, who, really, if it could be possible, wanted to be my friend. I quite literally was falling in love with him. By the end of the week, I asked how I could go about receiving Jesus as my personal Savior, since I took seriously his promise in Luke chapter eleven, verses nine to ten. With great joy, my aunt and uncle knelt with me at my bedside in prayer, and I prayed six simple words: ‘Jesus, please come into my life.’

  “Guess what, Margaret,” I said, “I finally got it!”

  She beamed at me. “You sure did. And you should have seen the celebration in heaven when you spoke those precious words. ‘For there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.’ ”

  Just the thought of angels rejoicing for little ol’ me made my heart leap. I enjoyed the image for a minute, and then I continued with my story.

  “The first thing that happened after I spoke those six words was that I saw another word form in my mind. It was kham. I was puzzled and asked my aunt and uncle what it meant. They answered simply, ‘Just say it.’ So I said it, and oh my goodness! Words of a language unknown to me came pouring forth from my mouth. It went on and on, and the most incredible joy was bubbling up inside me so fast I couldn’t hold it inside anymore. I burst out laughing,
and my aunt and uncle did, too. I believe, Margaret, that this was one of the giftings you mentioned earlier—my first gift of the Spirit. It was completely unexpected, and a bit puzzling, since I could not understand any of the words.”

  “Let me interject something here,” interrupted Margaret. “This gift of the Spirit God gave you is quite real, and I know you have come across people in your life who have made you feel uncomfortable about it. I will ask you more about this later on. But, for now, I want to hear the rest of your story.”

  I continued. “When I returned home to my family, I needed some time to come down from my ‘mountaintop experience’—to get my elation and exuberance for the Lord to a manageable state. I think I drove everyone a little crazy for a bit. But I finally settled down and got busy with school and all the things that go along with being a flaky teenage girl. There was something different about me, though. Because now I knew in my heart that Jesus was my friend and, no matter what I was feeling, I could talk to him. For me, that was huge. I particularly recall one day in dance class: I was auditioning for a dance team and had to successfully complete several required moves that did not come easily to me. Much to my chagrin, I was not the most graceful dancer.”

  I shot Margaret a look before she could break into laughter. “No comments, please, from the peanut gallery. I am freely admitting my klutziness.” She just nodded and pressed her lips together tightly to suppress what I had rightly suspected was going to erupt.

  “When it was my turn to perform a dance step across a balance beam, I knew I was in big trouble. I was about to be evaluated for grace and balance, and I’d never been able to do this in practice without falling off the beam. So, I breathed a quick prayer asking Jesus to help me with this. I stepped onto the beam and began dance-stepping across. Then the most amazing thing happened. I felt someone holding my hand! Really, truly, holding my hand. I danced across the beam flawlessly! I know that something really special happened that day. And I made the dance team—as an apprentice—but I made it.