In dry and barren soil, a withering flower wrestles for life with the greedy and selfish weeds that consume all that is bright and colorful. The weeds have taken root and taken over. With blades of shadow, they block the warmth and nourishment of sun and rain. Snakes and all things that creep and crawl move freely throughout this dark skeleton of a garden keeping all that might seek life cowering where they lie. What will become of this little flower trapped with no chance of freedom in sight? How can it hope without knowing for what (or for whom) to hope? There it sits, wilted and weeping.
Surely roots dig deeper than the surface, thinks the little flower. Surely color is meant to be brilliant. Why can I not lift my head to search for light? My stem is weak and bent, my blossom droops, my nectar is dry, and my petals fall as tears on the dusty earth. Is this life?
There is a man watching this little flower. Who is He to care for the wilted and colorless? Trowel in hand, the man brushes aside the weeds, thistles, and thorns and begins to dig despite the blood that is drawn from his hands. A cool breeze blows through the darkness; the snakes slither away. He uproots the flower with a smile and gently places it in the pouch of His apron. Wiping the sweat from His brow, He begins to whistle a lively tune as if some victory had been won after a fierce battle.
He walks with purpose away from the dead garden and toward a greater land of heaven and earth. After traveling a distance, He kneels on the soft, plush ground of a garden filled with beauty and bells. He pulls out His trowel and begins to dig again. Carefully, He removes the flower from the cradle of His apron and places it in new soil, a new garden. There is instant stimulation as moist, fertile soil hugs the roots and covers the base of the flower. Its roots become alive drinking in health. The man pats the earth around the flower, still whistling, ensuring it is snug and safely planted.
What is this new energy racing through my veins? Oh, wait! What is this? Coolness! How refreshing is the fresh water He pours down rinsing away the dust and stain of darkness and decay. I am clean! Color is returning to my blossom and. . .there! There it is! The sun. I see it! I feel it! Shine down on me! I am reaching for you! May my face never be out of its sight. . or HIs. I see HIm smiling. Do I bring Him pleasure? There are so many other flowers in this garden of color and light. Do we all bring Him pleasure? We must. I can tell by the way He stands back and looks upon us with a grin of satisfaction after a job well done. This must be His garden.
There in the garden, the rolling color of life rings bells of freedom. The sound is glorious and the sight is breathtaking. Every plant, flower, shrub, and tree is ideally planted. All shapes, colors, and sizes grow in harmony together creating a world of beauty. It is good and it is kept. For when the weeds break surface, the Gardner is there; when it is the season to prune, the Gardner is there; when water is scarce or the sun is hot and burning, the Gardner is there. For all things, He is there to meet every need to keep His garden healthy and growing.
What gentle hands of strength and love! I will grow toward Him; He is my light and my nourishment. I love Him because His love has saved me.
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