In The Garden

Thirty minutes in my garden on the cusp of Good Friday. It was warm outside, I wore my long jacket anyway. The dew was already thick on the grass, soaking my socks through my garden shoes. The moonlight illuminated the yard, I only used the flash I was carrying to scout for Moses. (He found me and later took up most of the bench with his back to me cuz I didn’t want him on my lap!

I sat down and stared into the sky. Wispy clouds were moving quickly across the moon. It was odd, the earth, where I was, was calm. Not a speck of wind. In the heavens it looked busy. Almost like the moon couldn’t decide which gauze would look best this night.

I started to think about friends and mom and what I was going to do. I prayed for my friends. I talked to God. I’m often tired and my body is not the one I had two years ago. (It definitely needs something!) I cried to Him about how all the decisions were in my hands. He overcame the world, but my worn fraying thread of life is still made up of my own choices. The moon bathed me in gentle light as tears flowed down my cheeks. I felt so alone. I’m always alone. 

I listened to the water constantly filling the pond from itself and felt it was me. I listened to the frogs nearby and the busy night on the city roads (it was just after midnight ). I looked at the moon perfectly framed in darkened branches with new leaves on the chokecherry tree (I hope The Craftsman doesn’t clip those branches!) and grew thankful. I remembered a poem I taught the boys eons ago, quietly repeating it aloud once again. “I see the moon, the moon sees me. God bless the moon and God bless me.’ 

I smiled and asked for blessings and peace and rest and healing for different friends across my lifeline. A college friend is dying on hospice, Becky is in chemo, another Canadian friend is also battling a carcinoma. My roommate from Canada posted the church her dad pastored in for decades had lost an elder in a church shooting. Other friends have lost family members and are hurting. More friends just hurt, both physically and in their souls. I prayed for them and for you. I sat there crying and remembered songs. Random tunes from church and the radio. The song ‘I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses….He walks with me and He talks with me..’ was followed by ‘Speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be.’ I breathed deeply and closed my weeping eyes. ‘Let it be.’ Not, ‘what will be, will be’. But, simply, ‘Let. It. Be.’ 

I scrubbed my cheeks with a soggy tissue. Nothing was really resolved. I was still like the pond that needs a thorough cleaning, but the pump had been. So, the water was now moving freely. It was still recycling from itself, but it was doing what needed to be done for now. I went and stood on the bridge over the pond. I looked at the moon from this different perspective, wondering. Moses joined me, waiting. Eventually, we walked across the wet yard to go back inside.

Thirty minutes in my garden in moonlight during the first minutes of Good Friday. Not a long time, but it was enough. It’s time to let go of ‘Que Sera, Sera’ and ‘Let it be.’

  (Although, I will always adore Doris Day!

4 thoughts on “In The Garden

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