Do You Have a Garden?

She sat on a bench placed just off the pavement of the Flower Garden. Holding an orange daisy in her hand, she stared at its petals, though her attention was lost in her thoughts. “What would she do with her own garden?” she wondered, borrowing the view of someone else’s for the day.

She dreamed of the flowers she would plant, the weeds she would pull, the blooms she would collect in a basket, and the arrangements she would assemble for her dinner table. 

She didn’t notice that God had approached and seated himself beside her until he was already sitting down. He had been listening to her thoughts for several minutes. 

“Perhaps you need not borrow someone else’s dream,” God said to her soul. He leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, his right arm resting on the back of the bench. He wore a gardener's attire, a set of gloves beside him, a spade and small hand rake lying on the ground at his feet. 

Startled by his presence, she did not recognize him as God. She thought she heard him speak but was confused, as no words had been spoken aloud.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked. 

“I was just resting,” God replied. 

“Is this your garden?” she asked, studying him curiously. He had scared her, arriving unnoticed, yet something about him drew her in. His energy felt divine, but her mind told her to be afraid.  

“Indeed,” God replied. 

“It is lovely." 

“Thank you. Do you have a garden?” 

“Only in my mind,” she answered forlornly. 

“I bet it is beautiful.” 

She studied the man, wondering why he was here. “Thank you. I should be going,” she said, gathering her things. 

“If you’d like help with your garden, feel free to come and visit. I will be here for many days." 

“Thank you. Nice to meet you. What is your name?” she asked. 

“God,” he said to her heart. 

She stood in his presence for several moments, though it felt as if time stood still. His words filled her with the overwhelming feeling of love, emotions spilled out of her in the form of tears. 

“G-G-God?” Her voice trembled. Her soul knew. Her heart knew. Her body responded, but her mind resisted, with every ounce of fear she battled this unwelcomed exchange. 

“Indeed, my love. You need not fear." 

God’s energy extended outward, surrounding her in a gentle embrace, calming her, offering her peace, love, and comfort. His love wrapped her like a soft hug, helping her surrender and open her heart. 

She sat on the ground like a child waiting for a teacher to share a story, her legs crossed and her eyes up and focused. 

“My love, please, sit here, on the bench,” God said, gesturing to the spot next to him. “I am not here to tell you what to do. I am here to help you with your garden.” 

She resisted the feelings rising within her body but forced herself to climb back up onto the bench. She felt unworthy to be in God’s presence, unworthy to be seated at the right hand of God. That place, she thought, was reserved for royalty, for divine beings. She resisted the love she was feeling. Love felt dangerous because love had always caused her pain. Love was tough. Love was frustrating. Love was a fight. Love was to be defended. 

“You are worthy of love because you are born worthy. You are worthy of love because you are love.” 

God looked into her eyes, but his words penetrated her soul. 

The hidden pain of love began to surface, old wounds, buried traumas, tucked away fears, all rising to the surface. The remembering was painful, but as quickly as they appeared, God wiped them away. 

“Every spring, I like to tend to my garden. There are many things that have been lying dormant under the cold of the winter’s frost, many hidden in the darkness of snow cover." 

She appreciated God’s metaphors. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her traumas. 

She had been forced into therapy as a child, revisited it as an adult, and though it had helped, therapy could only reach what she was willing to reveal. Many wounds remained locked away. 

“My garden,” she started, but struggled to form the words on her lips. “My garden has been hidden for a long time. It desires light,” she whispered, her thoughts drifting inward. Several moments later, she confessed, “I don’t know how to revitalize it. My tools are broken. I have no seeds. The knowledge I once had is no longer sufficient to help it  thrive. The magic that was me seems to have disappeared. The teachers who once guided me no longer spark passion within me." 

God sat quietly, listening, allowing his presence to be enough, allowing whatever she was ready to surface, surface. 

“My love, healing, a garden, isn’t always about continuing to dig into deeper soil. Sometimes, healing is about choosing a new path, a new garden, new plants, a different life. You have the freedom to choose, you have the freedom to choose how you heal, how you live, how you move forward. Every day, you choose the weather in your soul. Is it raining? Is there a storm? Is it rainbows? Do you enjoy sunshine? You are the weatherman. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. You can choose. You are worthy of divine love, unconditional love. You are not defined by the things you have been through. You also choose your story. You can write a new story, live a new story, embody your story." God paused for several moments allowing his words to percolate like water into soil. “Let me ask you this, how many outside influences have been telling you how to be? Yes, it is part of your fabric, do you choose to let it be part of your future?”