garden of my soul
by Brittany Hundley
My ears hear so many calls; to study this and
that, to seek after this and that, to strive for this and that. It can be very
overwhelming but I must remember that at the end of the day it always boils down
to the invisible realm where Jesus and I walk in the garden of my soul, alone.
And in that garden, we walk with one another and with no one else. None can
speak up for me and none can accompany me there. The words of my people cannot
carry me in relationship with Him; I must be alone with Him. The opinion of my
father does not influence Him, He sees deeply into me. In the garden of my soul,
I see only Him and me; there is nothing in that place that can distract me. We
are alone and it is glorious and it is terrifying.
There we discuss the flowers that are growing in my garden; how I am excelling
in love and in tenderness towards Him and to others. And there we discuss the
weeds that are spreading disease to and killing the flowersof my soul; how I am
given to lie, to be prideful, and how I lust after earthly comforts. There He
is my husbandman* and my soul is His garden; I gave it to Him many years ago and
He has kept it the whole while.
No one else can walk with us in this garden excepting, of course, our Father and
the Spirit. I can take no friend with me and no demon dares enter; it is the
Lord’s garden. It is only I and the Three and They there, tend me. Removing
weeds and watering flowers, and resting in the shade of trees that have been
planted for Their enjoyment.
It is my place with the King and it is His most favorite resting place. There He
often sits and waits for me to silence the business of my soul in order to speak
with Him. When I find Him, I sit before Him and we speak; He and I. We talk
about the things that matter most to the both of us; we speak about He and I.
When we talk about me, it is in relation to the garden of my soul but when we
talk about Him, there is not the boundary of garden walls. Jesus tells m
everything; how He lived, how He died, how He rose, how He took the keys of
Death and of Hades, how He rules and how He plans to restore all things. My
mind, like a flower, unfolds before Him as His heart unfolds before me; I am
left spellbound and never understanding and yet it draws me to loving Him more
and more. He is perfect and I am flawed; I am reconciled to this and it is the
root of all of the flowers of the garden of my soul and the place of my greatest
worship. Oftentimes He allows tears to fall from His eyes in my presence and
there is nothing that I love more than to sit before Him when He is deeply
distressed; I would wish that I could always catch His tears. They are truly the
dew on the flowers of the garden of my soul every morning; sparkling like
diamonds and with the power to raise the dead. He is glorious. I never restrain
the comfort of my own tears before Him nor could I if I had the might of ten
thousand mighty men. There is a great injustice when One so beautiful, weeps
alone with noe to aid Him in His sorrow. O let it never be so in the garden of
my soul! May I always lend my tears to Him. This is how everything was always
meant to be, living on display before my Savior and with Him, both realms in
perfect unity.
* The word “husbandman” means: one that plows and cultivates land or a
specialist in a branch of farm