The Garden

My walk with the Lord moves through seasons.  This is a natural part of life on earth.  Moments, feelings, memories change and stay the same all at once.

Some days, I am enamored with my Savior.  I cling to Him with joy and passion from the moment I open my eyes in the morning until the moment I go to bed that night.  How I love Him.  I feel His unfailing love for me, cherishing me, holding me as the apple of His eye.  I dance for Him.  Daddy, watch me run.  Hear me sing.  Lift me onto Your knee.  And He does.

Other days are harder.  A ridge in the path causes me to stumble.  A relationship falters.  Something breaks my heart.  Consumed by emotion and confusion, I turn on Him, demanding answers.  He has always been my Redeemer, the One who rescues me.  Where is my Rock today?  I weep, I withdraw, I vent.  And yet He holds me. 

There are even seasons of apathy.  The world is filled with sharp stones and heavy bricks that stoop my frail shoulders if I do not allow my Father to take them from me.  The Word holds less meaning for me during those days.  My relationship with Jesus becomes one of routine and responsibility, rather than one of passion and intimacy.  In these times, I no longer feel like I am a newlywed, frolicking as one who is treasured by the One.  I am only tired.  And so I distance myself from Him.  And He whispers to me still.

During the more difficult seasons, especially those of weariness and gray thoughts, a tremor begins to make its way through my heart until it is the only thing I can feel.  I grasp at the air.  I thirst; oh, how I long to feel what I once did for my precious Father.  So I plead with Him in a rasping, broken voice that mirrors the fractured pieces of my heart.  Return to me.  Return to me, Daddy.  How I need You.

And like a child who feels needlessly lost and abandoned within a store while his mother watches smilingly down the aisle, I am swept up into His arms, lost in the mirth and endless depth of His eyes.  Those eyes.

Oh, beloved, I have been here all along.  Why did you fear?  I made you a promise.

Then I remember.  His voice, His touch, His gaze.  My name.  How did I ever lose sight of all that gives me sustenance?

Father.  Beloved.  I bury my face in His chest, allow His passion to overwhelm my heart until I overflow like a glass emptied into the loveliest of gardens.  He gently washes away my burdens and shame as if they are merely dust on the shoes of one who has traveled for miles.  He whispers my name.  I sing to Him.  Such joy.

The passion does not always come easily.  It does not always come like a fountain, an unexpected thrill, a brand new song.  There are days when my love for Him feels like a worn garment draped uselessly over my trembling shoulders.  Seasons come and go.  My earthly emotions may sift like sand, but He remains the same.  And through the storms, the driest deserts, and the richest of gardens, still He holds me.