Meet me in the garden. The garden that doesn't exist yet. The garden that is symbolic of my entwinement in family matters and which reminds me of my portion in generational sin. The garden that has fallen my lot in household duties, instead of taking control of areas that have a more direct effect on my equilibrium. The garden that makes me feel voiceless because I cannot complain about my mothers' neglect of the inside of the house until I fulfill my assigned duties outside of it.
I do long deeply for a beautiful place to still my heart. Gardens are good for this, but I miss the gardens of Colonial Williamsburg, so carefully cultivated and open to my rambling strolls. Converting latent anxiety into peace through movement in tended space-- baptism of fresh air and flowers. There is no baptismal font here. Ours is a yard without privacy, design or good soil. Parks nearby are small and ugly. I cannot even go for a lovely drive past changing leaves. Traffic effectively prevents driving from being pleasant or private. There is no air in the suburbs. How can I plant myself here when there is no air and no arable earth?
I am full of complaint and anxiety. I have learned only enough in the past years to keep me from trying to hide this from the Lover of my soul. His response to my unhappiness, my fear that in following Him I will not be happy? "Meet me in the garden."
I don't know what He is doing with me. I don't know what I'm doing at my parent's house. I don't know what I'm doing with a garden. I can take some comfort, however, that I am not following any plan of mine. These are not choices I would have invented without His clear push. These are not desires of my own that I am using theology to excuse-- these are choices against my will and for His.
I think that if I show up in the garden, then soon the meaning to my suffering will become apparent and God will bless the earth and it will flourish and, because I was obedient, He will reprieve my sentence and send me happiness. I think that if I can get past my excuses and resistance, I will be happy in the garden because there I will find all the things that I think I want. I think that if I work hard in this garden, if I work hard in my soul-- I will reap a reward of beauty as a law of returns.
But He didn't say,"Go look in the garden for your idols-- that's where I hid them from you!"
He said, "Meet ME in the garden."
I don't want to go outside and work in the garden. I am full of inner resistance and full of excuses-- too tired, too cold, too dark, too uninformed. It is much, much easier to choose His will in wide, sweeping gestures than in quiet, obedient movements. It is easier to choose a college than to wake up on time. It is easier to break off the bad relationship than to tithe. It is far easier to move to Africa than to rake and mulch and weed. Deep down in my soul, at about the point where soil gives way to bedrock, I tremble to meet Him in the garden. I love Him but fear Him, for He is perfect and I am not. And I am not perfectly assured of His love, when I dig down to that level. Will I like Him, when I find Him in the garden? What will He do with me, if I continue to obey? And will I like it?
I suppose I actually do trust that He is asking me to prepare a rich landing place for His miracles.
I know that it is never easy to make beauty out of earth. I know it was never promised that it would be easy to be made beautiful from brokenness. I wager that sorrow digs a well to support a fountain of joy, and I believe that suffering alone can burn away the imperfections and leave me with heart deeply and fully in love with my Lover for his own sake.
But I am surprised and disappointed by the reality of desire and toil. What want is like, how deeply boring toil can be-- these are words that I have come only lately to existentially define. I knew these things, now they are becoming beknown to me. I am "am-ing" them out and finding my faith more frail and shallow than I expected. Do I really believe that God is good? Do I really believe in a good that is full of life? If I do, then I will stop procrastinating and start participating. Such an easy, simple embodiment of obedience and trust: walk out the door and meet Him in the garden. Take my body, put it in the garden, and wait for the one who embodied pain and rejection so that I could embody life and love to show up. It's truly amazing how very little God actually asks of us, when you come down to it. He does all the miracles, He does all the work. We are like children helping in the kitchen. We get underfoot and add too many raisins to the batter and complain that our wrists are tired after a couple minutes when asked to stir. And really, we are so rarely there to spend time with the Cook-- we are just hoping to lick a spoon or two. But He keeps letting us in, and asking us to show up.
As I discover what it is to long for what is good, Thank God for the pain and toil-- I want to be someone who loves my Lover for Himself, not for flowers and spoons.
No comments:
Post a Comment