well, now i’ve done it.
i’ve gone and looked at gypsymama’s 5mf and read the whole thing and now i have to follow her amazing post because i can’t not say something when prompted to write anything, especially when hers points to charity and community and children and all that is good and right on the earth, or at least helps to make it so.
and about the word for the week, garden, a few things…
last fall, some of my friends will tell you that the lord was doing something in a garden inside of me. i kept seeing myself in this garden…there was a whole storyline to it, only i got different images of it at different points and the scenes changed…it sounds really strange to say it out loud. or write it, i mean. but if you speak the language, then i trust that you get it.
and i thought it meant one thing, but i think when it was all said and done, we deduced that the lord was doing something during that season in the garden of my own heart, of my own life. because isn’t that usually the case?
when i first began seeing these images, it was summer time. hot, hot, hot summer. in the image, it was summer. but also it was august. in the midwest. where it is hot as blue blazes.
but then the scenes shifted and it was time for harvest before fall in the land actually began.
woh. woh. woh.
sorry, just now realizing something…will get to it…
so, harvest. i was sowing seeds, others were sowing seeds. he said, “sow this seed. water this seed.” so i did. i sowed and watered the one i thought he said to sow and water and it was harvest time in this proverbial garden.
and then it was suddenly winter. everything just stopped. froze. the day was gray and silent. the garden was still, dormant, quiet. no sign of life or growth. we did our job. it was time for the land to grow it up now.
and i said it yesterday, not even making the connection, and this is the “woh. woh. woh.”
i am feeling the warmth of spring on my soul again. life is stirring, awakening. it’s been almost two years since that thing happened and i said just yesterday that i feel like there is a sprout forming above the earth from a seed dropped dormant in the dark, rich soil of winter. anticipation of the earth in full motion rumbles beneath the surface.
not even making the connection until just this moment that it’s all been a part of the same garden, the one we saw last fall, also the garden of my heart. all different parts of the same story. same garden, but my garden. not that person’s or the other. the garden of my heart in which he and i walk alone because our gardens, yours and mine, aren’t meant to be shared until the bounty and the plenty comes. he leads me privately, showing me the land and where he himself
and sowed them
and watered them
he tilled this land, not me
but i was there, with him
god drops seeds and he sows and we reap and heaven pours and earth moves and land forms life in spring because that is what fertile soil where seeds are planted is made, is created, it itself born to do. and harvest comes and we share because we can’t not share. we must share in and from and through the abundance of hearts, of lives.
i didn’t realize it really would take this long, just like she said it would. the recovery time has taken way longer than the actual experience. it’s something i rarely think about anymore, were it not for this garden.
god spoke to hearts and he paved ways, so i uprooted and moved away and started a new life not long after, chasing after, pursuing only, not stopping on the race that is carved out for me. that part happened a year ago.
i’m settled here now. no longer striving. comfortable in my skin, even when i’m not. safe in him. secure in my place in the world. rather, secure in not necessarily knowing my place in the world, just that i have one and it’s important because we all do and everyone’s is.
i am a soul coming alive again, finding her voice again.
and i am not afraid to use it, though cautious and sensitive to my own heart and this garden therein.
one sprout, i can see it. she did not resist the land where she was safe but for the natural movement and it grew her, sturdy and strong and hearty. delicate still for waking up to the dawn of early morning after the deepest sleep. but she is alive again. she made it.
spring is coming. spring is here.
and it was worth it.