There was a garden...

This morning, my readings for Holy Saturday included the passage from John 19 describing the removal of Jesus' body from the cross by Joseph and Nicodemus, and their loving preparation of his body for burial. Verses 41-42 tell us: 

At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid. Because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.

John (of course!) is the only one of the gospel writers who includes the little detail about the garden, and how the tomb was located there.  It is interesting to me that a garden - the place where Jesus' parables about good soil and bad soil, about seeds being buried in the earth before bringing new life, were on display every day - this living laboratory, as it were, was the location where God chose to demonstrate what those stories were ultimately all about.

Gardens and April 7 come together to flood me with memories of my paternal grandmother, Lizzie Buske Young.  She was born on this day 102 years ago in Anson, the fifth of what would eventually be a large brood of ten children.  Her childhood was spent in dry and dusty west Texas, from Anson, to Spur, to Abernathy.  Her parents somehow made ends meet as dry cotton farmers and ranchers, and for part of that time, as owners of a hotel right by the railroad in Abernathy.  She told how, from the age of eight, she would get up at 3:00 a.m. with her mother and sisters to begin preparations to feed the crowd of men who would be expecting a hearty breakfast and a sack lunch to go.  She was in charge of bread and pies, making rolls, "light bread" (what she called loaf bread), and other wonderful things.  Today I will think of her as I bake rolls for our family and friends.  

After she married my grandfather, J.P., they eventually moved to Carlsbad, NM.  But the piece de resistance was when, in an unexpected transaction, Granddad traded his business for a ranch in Mancos, CO.  Talk about a change of location!  They had a house in town where Grandma had the rose garden to end all rose gardens.  I would spend time in those sweet and short summer seasons with them, sometimes going out to the ranch with Granddad, other days staying in town with her.  Her yard was the green that Abilenians dream about, and she tended each of those rose bushes with tender loving care.  Her favorite, and mine too, was the Peace rose.  This morning on my walk, I saw one for the first time in a long time.

When they retired and moved back to west Texas, Grandma attacked that dry land with vigor and determination, finding things that would grow and giving them the same tender care.  Hollyhocks, iris, apricot trees, roses, even dahlias.  This week, Grandma's purple iris bloomed at my house.

Well up into her 80s, and well after physical and mental illness had robbed her of the ability to do many things, she still went out every day to work in her yard.  In 2004, at the age of 94, Lizzie Young put off the shell that had hindered her for so long and joined the God she had loved and served for so many years.

As I anticipate tomorrow's celebration of Christ's resurrection from the garden tomb, so I anticipate the day when I will be caught up in the air with those faithful ones I loved so much.  Lord, come quickly!