Monday, April 16, 2012

Dear God,

Outside my writing room window is a beautiful contemplative garden, a small plot of ground dedicated to your spirit's movement.  Many years ago when I had my "open garden", about seventy people gathered to join me in prayer, dedication, and fun.  A hot, sticky day with stale air, we blew bubbles as we walked along the river stone pathway and as they landed on the flowers, bushes, and plants they remained in place.  Hundreds of bubbles representing your spirit clung to the garden floor.  What beauty it was as we prayed for you to do your work there.

Over the years individuals have come to sit, to pray, to cry and even to laugh.  It was "home" to two women dying of cancer.  One woman came on her wedding day to pray.  As I look out now, it is full of green, poised ready to bring pink, purple, yellow, and white flowers.  My garden listens to you.  Oh yes, it has been fraught with thistles and weeds but that's more about me, the caretaker, than the garden. But it grows, it waits, it dies back, and it grows again.

As I consider the garden, I let it speak to me of my own need to listen, to wait, to surrender, and to grow.  I want my faith to be like my garden.

Master Gardener,
as you
tend to
my garden,
I pray
you will
tend to
my soul.
Make me beautiful,
a display
of your beauty
in the world.
Help me yield
to your will,
I pray.

Love, Andrea