I stroll through the field, my feet faintly sinking into the cool gentle grass. My slow steps in wonderful cadence with my relaxed breaths.
A voice of song hollers, “There you are!” My eyes, which had been so intently occupied on the clouds above fell from the heavens back to Earth.
“Abba!” I cry out. My slow stroll opens into a sprint, as if his address was the opening shot of a race. He has a way of wrapping me in when I look at him. In fact, if you gazed upon him long enough, a strange phenomenon would occur. It was as if there were three different entities gazing right back. Like his appearance would shift sideways between a gentle man, an ethereal whisper, and a radiant beam. He was simultaneously three different beings, yet more completely one than anyone else I have ever met. I learned early on it was best not to try and comprehend the dancing form he embodied, but instead, simply enjoy it.
I thud directly into his chest, the side of my face pressed tightly so I could catch the sound of his beating heart. HIs deep laugh and even deeper hug enchant every fiber of my being. “I’m so glad you came.” he whispers.
I, excited and energized by his presence, begin to fill him in on the events since I had last come to visit with him. He laughs at the stories I share of my friends, reminding me of the details I missed that make the memories all the sweeter. These are the light memories, the colorful ones. He nods his slowly, as I show him my open wounds and fresh scars, tears in his soothing eyes. He listens intently to these, the heavy memories. Times like these always make me feel like he could sit in the soft pasture with me forever, satisfied with only my presence.
“Lot of good, lot of bad, and just about everything in between,” I remark with a sheepish grin. “Life sure is messy,” I say staring into his eyes. Eyes like no man or woman’s I have ever seen in my life. Eyes which appeared to be every color at once, radiant and powerful, seeing and feeling with no distinction between those words. Eyes which seemed to peer into the recesses of your heart despite your best efforts to stop them. This felt like one of those moments.
A smile breaks across his rugged face. “Let me show you something,”
He walks me through the field, yellow, purple, and blue wildflowers springing up wherever his feet graced the Earth. My eyes hang on the new growth as I try to keep up, my brain doing its best to soak the splendid images in.
Before I know it, the rolling field gives way to lush greenery the likes of which I have never seen. Beaming flowers, towering trees, and all of the Earth’s most delightful creations came to reside in one home. The splendor my eyes were witnessing seemed to crash over me like a wave. The aroma of the sweet blooms intoxicating me with each passing moment, as if Spring herself, had deemed this place alone worthy of her residence.
Abba stops, and lets out a deep exhale of satisfaction. I close the gap between the two of us and stand next to him, imitating his posture in the same manner children do their parents.
His gaze lingers on the garden a moment longer. “It’s your garden,” he beams, “I’ve been hard at work ya know?” The visceral color shining before me almost hurts my eyes. The slightest breeze embracing the petals caused an ocean of color to dance before me. Abba takes my hand, and for the first time, I notice the soil under his fingernails. His warm hand, dirty from the work, gifts my mind curiosity.
“You’ve been gardening?” I ask. “Among other things,” he laughs.
“Well,” my mind struggling to comprehend the glory before me, “how long have you been working on this?”
“Since before you were born. I truly delight in creating, but I delight in your heart all the more” These words seemed to carry a gravity that almost made me feel naked, exposed to everything I think or feel.
Upon hearing this, the lump in my throat begins to feel warmer, my eyes slightly stinging. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, “but sometimes it’s tough for me to remember that,” my words low in volume.
Yet his smile has only gotten bigger. “Oh! I know, why else do you think I’ve been gardening?” My perplexion must have been visible since he let out a giggle with childlike excitement. Soil compacting under our bare feet, we step deeper still into the garden.
He stops, and bends down next to a rather inconspicuous root. He wraps his thumb and index finger around it. He begins to trace the root along the muddy and damp floor toward a bush erupting with daisies. “Beautiful isn’t it?” he asks.
“Yes!” I smile, delighted something so gorgeous exists in my garden.
“These flowers took months to bloom,” he remarks, “I had to dig up old roots, and prune the ones that were going to sustain these beautiful colors,” he pauses, “Actually, you were pretty upset with me during that time”
“I was?” I ask.
“Oh yes,” he chuckles, “In fact, you thought I wasn’t there with you.” Silence follows, disturbed only by the warm breeze rustling through the leaves around us. I stare at the flowers before me, flowers which are filled with joy so vividly I can see it. But in them I see something else, there was an energy which seemed to cause them to grow. I inch closer and it comes into frame; the roots of these flowers were wrapped in memories. My memories. I suddenly remember the time my Father is speaking of. I can see it in the daisies, the pain and hurt and loneliness I had once felt at the center of my being. Sorrow which had once been a fetter dragging my soul down, seemed to be the entity sustaining these flowers. Yet sorrow not how I initially experienced it, but instead, sorrow redeemed. Now an unexplainable source of beauty. As if sorrow taken into the Lord’s hands leaves as the very thing which comprises holiness.
Before I know it, he’s taken my hands into his, “It’s okay,” he whispers, “I’ve been gardening so you may experience my love in its truest form” his soft eyes watching tears quietly run down my cheeks.
“How come it hurts so bad? Why must you dig up old roots, how come you can’t just make these flowers bloom without it getting so messy?” My words are barely audible, as I do my best to stifle the pains of my aching heart.
“Because, I need all of you,” a thread of intensity connecting these words. “I won’t be satisfied with any weeds in this garden… any lies infecting your heart” He waits until my gaze meets his. “I have to rip them up from the soil my child, or else they’ll keep you from seeing me,” a gentle smile now rests on his face.
“Well… when will my garden be finished?” I ask.
He lets out a deep laugh. “That’s not for you to know. Trust me, I won’t be done until every piece of your heart is restored and in full bloom. I won’t cease until you are back to my design. And on that day, you’ll see all of me,” These words, visceral and emotive pierce right through me and continue their dance like music through the garden.
As if on cue, a blossom in all its fledgling glory begins to bloom.
