garden

 

He's cultivating me.

Soft, gentle Hands are sifting me, like soil.

There's a richness hidden within. Parts are seen and much is unseen.

He's bringing the moist richness to the surface. I see it and sometimes maybe you do, too.

We're both being sifted.

Your ways are different than mine. And mine unique from yours.

There's hope within us. He's growing it.

A seed is buried. Sometimes it bobs up to the surface when the air is just right.

When we're flooded with nourishing water that makes the dry disappear, the hope rises up.

And when we feel all gummed up, sometimes even feeling stuck, we're rescued.

We need that rescue to make us smooth and soft again.

Because our hearts get gummy. Our feelings stick to our feet and what we do is an act.

We stumble and fall sometimes and we call it dancing when really it's quite clunky humor.

There's a garden in us that is producing a harvest of glory.

We claw for control and crave for a companion who will stay.

And within us, there's a whole meal to beholden.

Juicy. Sweet. Delectable. Nourishing.

This is our life. This is our story.

This that we share is remarkable. Truly remarkable.

Our togetherness is beyond us.

It's Eden all over again. A Garden He calls Holy.

And what He's growing will last.

our love is worship.

linking with Lisa-Jo.