A sister with whom I was sharing a sleeping room had become severely ill, spiritually. Others from her country had seen her through these episodes, which had happened before. Nights were especially bad for her. I would wake up and she would be thrashing around. In the dark it seemed as though she had sprouted extra arms and legs, and I got the impression of a very large spider. After a time, she began to improve. Sleep was still difficult for her, so she would sometimes sit up and sing Holy songs softly during the night. She had a nice voice, but not an exceptional one.

One night, she was singing and I woke up and was listening to her. She sang two or three songs, then began to sing "The Song of the Garden." The singing was so unbelievably beautiful that it lulled me right off to sleep, even though I was quite restless. In the morning I told her that her singing of this song had been so beautiful. She looked at me, puzzled. "But I never sang that one," she said.

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