Across from our house in Indiana was our church and the kids went to Christian school there. There was a prayer garden with a little chapel, and a big oak tree with a swing suspended from it. Cameron, Caleb, and I spent many evenings strolling through the prayer garden, kneeling in the chapel, or just swinging.
At Christmas, the garden was decked with thousands of white lights and a nativity scene. In Spring, it was bursting with budding dogwoods. In summer, it was lined with dozens of large American flags flapping in the breeze. In Autumn, it was ablaze with orange and gold chrysanthemums.
I believe God had me in mind when that garden was created (and a lot of other folks, as well). I prayed through many of life's major changes, happy and sad, in that garden.
As the three of us sat in that swing, Cameron would always ask me to tell him his favorite story of the Three Pigs, and then he wanted me to sing, "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."
It is good to know that at any time, any place or circumstance, I can come to the "prayer garden", and there I will always hear His voice.
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