There is a secret garden where immortal beings grow. No one is allowed to enter unless they have shed a certain number of tears. You see, these tears water the soil there, insuring that the plants are wiser than the visitors to the garden.

You might imagine that a lot of people crowd into this garden, but that would not be true. Some days no one enters to cast a human shadow there. Even so, the plants and flowers nod and bob in the saintly breezes as if they were quite enough and plenty.

I was only there once and it was due to an overwhelming loss, the loss of my youngest child, a beautiful daughter.

The entrance that I found was not by accident. After the required quota of tears was shed, it appeared directly in front of me and I was at home alone and it was deep night in my soul.

I looked up to find a heavy red wooden door swinging open and an aroma drew me through to the other side.

What I found there was the Lord Himself, at home with his angels.

He did not speak a word, only motioned with a hand towards the garden in full bloom. The sun was shining and a lake was bejeweled with dancing beams of light.

My soul was freed in that moment and a lark sang.

I cannot tell you anything else about this garden because my memory of it was wiped away. I only tell you in these few sentences that it is true.

Be still and know that you are loved and that the garden exists outside of space and time.

It is the Garden of the Soul and you maintain it. You, the official owner and operator of this inner grace. You are the one blessed by its aroma. You are the one who benefits from the touch of His Hand on your upturned face. You are home and there is no place else to go.

Vicki Woodyard