The Garden

He came to rip it apart. But it didn’t first appear like that, it never does, or it could be I have gotten pretty good at twisting and manipulating the truth. That could be it, too. 

 

Little by little he, ‘he’ meaning an unwanted visitor, yet not a stranger. He danced in and out of the circumstances and gleefully planted seeds of strife, loneliness, despair, animosity, indifference, complacency and very heavy burdens among the flowers that grew in this garden, in her garden.

 

These flowers were full of vibrant color with blooms so luscious, one could not question the richness of the soil in which they grew. The caretaker definitely had experience. It knew what flowers grew best and one could tell by the fact it used bulbs,  not seeds, to establish a heartier more durable and seasonally dependable garden. Because of this it rendered constant bloom year round, even in its winter. Onlookers often were caught by sweet surprise at its beauty and would visit often just to admire it. 

 

As it seems with all things given enough time, there came a darkness upon this garden, a rift. These were not unfamiliar to the caretaker, she had endured many storms, but there was something more dark and malignant with this particular one. 

 

The winds blew incredibly hard at times and when it would relent, the sun would bare down an immense heat which caused a bit of the beautiful flower stems to break and the withering of many petals. 

 

Foreign seed made its way among the beauties and with the season being just right, these rebel warriors began their best efforts to manifest themselves in a way, as to choke out the beauty in this garden. 

 

The ‘he’ in the first paragraph is Satan. My life is this garden, though I am the caretaker, I am not the owner. Christ is the owner. 

 

When all the skills I had to maintain things up to par faltered,  I started to feel I was losing control, like I was a failure. Honestly, I don’t think that was it. That foreign seed made me very tired of gardening. I was discouraged to see beautiful flowers broken as I had worked so hard to make my Owner’s garden beautiful but circumstances kept making things harder. Skills that worked before no longer worked, weed control was a failure, the soil stood in need of enrichment whereas before everything was successful and seemed to come at ease. 

 

I became fed up. I threw the shovel down, yelled at the sun, cast blame on the lack of rain, kicked the ground, then sat down and had a nasty cry. A long hard cry. 

 

At some point, a particular onlooker had sat down by my side. He didn’t say a word but you could tell in his eyes he felt my pain. 

 

For a long while we would discuss the circumstances of the messy garden and he would encourage me to not lose hope. 

 

Everything he said and did was for the hopes of me fixing this place I loved, but for the moment had grown to somewhat dislike. He wanted me happy and if this garden meant that much to my happiness, he was going to encourage me to fix it. He even encouraged me to seek the Owner’s input, that His advice would help me to make this garden so much more than what it was before. 

 

With new enthusiasm and a new friend, I regained my composure, I wasn’t going to quit. I wasn’t going to disappoint him nor the Owner of the garden and I wasn’t going to let this garden that I love go just like that. 

 

Sometimes courage makes you hang on in the very hard times. Courage makes you brave enough to love selflessly,  maneuver through your failures, and set things straight, even when a piece of you doesn’t want to. 

 

If it’s worth having, you’ll have to fight for it.