I remember Sundays when I was a small girl. This was before my brother was born, 13 yrs later. Sunday was a day when we went to Church and sometimes my Mom would stay home and make a big dinner and just Dad and I would go. We usually had a pot roast or roast chicken. She put a meal on the table like no other. Many, many side dishes...always a salad, jello, veggies of all kinds, mashed potatoes, relishes and hot rolls. Pie was usually the dessert. She would sit in the evening, while listening to the radio, going through her recipes finding just the right thing for Sunday dinner. We all groaned after eating at her table. I learned to eat everything growing up. Rutabaga, parsnips, squashes of all kinds. Those are still my favorites. Pie is my favorite dessert. I talked to my Brother the other day...he said, "Can you make pie crust like Mom's?" He loves to cook and eats everything too. No fussy eaters at our house. After dinner we would get the dishes done and Mom and my Grandma would go to our sun porch and Grandma would sit at the piano and play music..... mostly hymns. She was a Methodist and sang in the Church choir for years. My Mom was an accomplished pianist. She studied piano in Chicago after graduating from high school. She only played for her family, however. We sang hymns and other songs on Sunday get togethers. It was usually only the women in the family who did this. The men were visiting in another room...reading the paper, listening to the radio and our music too. The hymn that was always at the end was, In The Garden. It was Grandma's favorite. They all cried when they heard these familiar strains. I always wondered...why does she play this...if it makes her so sad?The song has been played at all the funerals on my side of the family. Now it brings tears to our eyes, because we have all these family memories. Later in the day the women would go into the kitchen and bring out the leftovers and we would all eat some more. My favorite Sundays were the days when Grandma would make fritters or waffles for Sunday supper. I can't imagine eating so much, but somehow we managed.
Here is a little history about In The Garden...our favorite hymn.
'In The Garden 'was written by C. Austin Miles in 1912, in response to a music publisher's commission. But even with this financial impulse at its inception, this hymn was nevertheless remarkably and spiritually inspired.
Miles left a written story of the visionary state that blessed him as he pondered what this new hymn should be. In his vision, he found himself in a garden with Mary, mother of Jesus, on the morning of His resurrection when she still thought He was in the tomb.
Upon regaining normal consciousness, Miles wrote the words immediately and set them to music the very same day.
This beloved hymn has taken on great power to ease pain for many, and even more so when the vision at its 'birth' is appreciated.
Many who have lost a loved one take comfort in the spiritual potency and promise expressed in these beloved stanzas.
Even those who do not consider themselves to be religious are often powerfully moved by hearing this hymn - a testimony to its spiritually inspired origin.
Miles left a written story of the visionary state that blessed him as he pondered what this new hymn should be. In his vision, he found himself in a garden with Mary, mother of Jesus, on the morning of His resurrection when she still thought He was in the tomb.
Upon regaining normal consciousness, Miles wrote the words immediately and set them to music the very same day.
This beloved hymn has taken on great power to ease pain for many, and even more so when the vision at its 'birth' is appreciated.
Many who have lost a loved one take comfort in the spiritual potency and promise expressed in these beloved stanzas.
Even those who do not consider themselves to be religious are often powerfully moved by hearing this hymn - a testimony to its spiritually inspired origin.
These days in my childhood are just memories now, but will never be forgotten. I hope that my kids have memories that stay with them long after I'm gone.
Balisha
