Very early this beautiful Sunday morning, I went out to enjoy squishing with my bare fingers the aphids on my almost-ready-to-bloom roses. All of a sudden, an old country church song came to mind.

I can remember every single word. ” I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses.”

Of course, I can’t remember the words to the anthem my choir will be singing in a couple of hours! Better, I think, to remember the words from my childhood when my faith was childlike. “And he walks with me and he talks with me, and he tells me I am his own.” I miss that childlike faith.  And I keep singing.