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A Garden Of Words

As I walk through the cool soil with the soft young grasses tickling my feet, their cold damp leaves caressing soles and soul, my thought’s meander into the construct of the gift, a beautiful area dedicate and delicate to growth in this life. So does a garden grow as two people speak in God’s graces, with and in all the gift’s He so generously give’s.

What is God if not a great and glorious Lord breathing into existence all this little man, this boy child of only the most limited sight, no blind, deaf even to the thunderous Word that He spoke and speaks continually in all flowered scented wonders. Grand if but in majesty of shading from sun’s warm touch, has presented to a child yet again if and through a like child’s sweet sound as she plays near.

Can a simple man even comprehend but a fraction of the splendor he has been given, the creation as she in turn creates.

An examination may be in order, a contemplation of his soul, turning towards spirit, with a look inward to the deeper inner peacefulness, the light and love that in itself burns lightly yet brightly within.

From steadfast supplied wick and oil, he humbly reaches inside with pure and penitent hand, asking a Good and Loving Father for an ear, as a child sits at His feet playing quietly soft and dear, lifting his small lit lamp yet again up for his prayer’s demand.

In the stead of a beckoning world ever pulling from just below the surface of this temple, polluted by all those who have entered to buy and sell, they who plant their own weeds within the garden flowers that are just beginning to bloom, ever should I strive to drive them out.

Safe are the new seed’s within the solid walls resting just between sanctuary of the inner court, and that outer world that threatens beyond, is the mind’s courtyard, the virgin field, in which any possible garden can grow.

If the eye is the lamp to the soul, so again does a mouth contain all the tools that a simple man might need to build any type of one’s desired garden. Doesn’t this earth we think is so real, merely exist within but the fractional spaces of varying presentations of semi states of energies, whispers of yesterdays thunders? That’s what scientist’s say. Those pondering’s can wait for another day.

Back to the grass covered gardens!

A world of Word’s created by the blending of the Father’s greatest creation’s, two of His precious children, as they wrap their tender finger’s hand in hand, lacing themselves in a fabric of multicolored splendor. I close my eyes but a moment and gently bask within the sight unfolding before me.

For lying within my vision, stretching out before me, is a garden bursting forth in majestic splendor. Springing from the deepest blackest soil, yet not a blackness that is devoid of light, but a dark soil that is full of life, reflecting within it’s rainbow of colors sparkling, like gems of crystal wealth, for this earth gives life as quickly as it breath’s in the life giving light, eagerly taking and giving as much as possible, reflecting but a fraction, only that which it can not contain. There is such an abundance! Soil full of the nutrients of our past, using as rich fertilizer much needed for the growth yet to come.

The clear cool stream meanders from the heart of the Word, a river of life gently rolling without impedance, touching and caressing every part with water’s of life, cool in His touch, healing, ministering, teaching, all in gift received and given.

Grasses of every shade of green, light oranges with subtle pearly yellows, and blades of crisp white her sapling’s erupt in a soft carpet blanketing the ground, tucking it’s waiting breath into the neck of this lonely man’s sleeping chest. She gently places her words lightly against waiting arm, as welcome as the warmth breath of a down filled dubay on a cold winter’s night.

Tales of yesterday, painting a picture of garden stone’s, a gentle path for perfect feet to step through grassy patches of blossoming puddle’s, brushing lightly aside without break, their clean scented fragrance of sweet rose, magnolia, gardenia, with just taste of violet, and daffodil. Only moments later blooming jasmine erupts, laced with pomegranate, the sweet spiced smells with sprinkled scented herbs, fills a heart with each bare footed step the words tell.

So sweetly can she meander through the steps that were coldly intended, what was years ago dark, pain and despair in past, his dark faced so used to whisper in ears, such a heartless enemy, but now she just dances gracefully along in transformed tranquility, born again in heart, her light, beautiful steps, each perfect in place, graciously caresses the surfaces of the wanting stones, to the sounds of their beckoning cries; “please but for a moment touch me!”

Many shade’s of green, small shrub-ling’s abound, purple edged, blue greens, subtle earthy browns, with just the touch of lighter hue’s speckle their small bushes, branches bowed in holy supplication ever turning head down in reverence for the Lord. Their quiet refuge for God’s smallest creatures, gentle servant’s who’s existence a calming peace in my heart provide, how soft is the touch of their ears to my child’s eager hand.

With every breath of His sweet child’s mouth, the canvas of color erupts across the field, a pallet of every shade and hue, stronger words paint grand majestic tree’s, built on firm legs, rooted deep in God’s good soil, grounded solidly in the faith that put them there, only in faith, not works, love’s toil.

They spatter the countryside as the ever expanding horizon unravel’s before my eye, in the perfect display of grand forestry with just enough trees of all types and sizes, they present a soft shade beneath to add to her mystery, leaving so much more for discovery.

Fruit tree’s of all types, white blossom of pure cherry, the tangy fresh smell of all young citrus, plum and peach all giving every delight a man could ever fathom, and many never even dreamed.

How beautiful is the slender apple, so much of her being wrapped within the life she give’s, strong in arms, enveloping firmly around all in her care, for as much she must lift, more so does she hold tenderly to her bosom, all who fall within her love’s breath sight. But stronger still are her thigh’s, harder yet must she stand ground with her feet firmly in God’s soil, holding tight, so she can weather the storms that most assuredly will come.

There is righteous pride granted her by the Father Himself, adorning her head in beautiful majesty, for He know’s that not from the soil was she made, from above the ground she was conceived, above in lifted majesty, never quite finding home in the ground, but from the man was she drawn, and in like she is drawn back. Sweet is the abundant fruit of her obedient branch.

Majestic blossomed branches reaching out in majestic strength, her gentle long curves stretch high in glorious praise, even as the soft delicate flowers rain down with the soft spoken words that dance along the recesses of a man’s scarred heart. They bend only slightly to gentle wrestlings of the springs breeze as the same the many flowers also below do.

Fragrant are the white spring blossom’s falling down a perfect cheek of her lovely canvas, down like the tears from the eyes of this little boy, gathered all in royal coffer at God’s feet, among the greatest of His treasures. So winged in solemn gathering fly His many angels, to retrieve the greatest of Hs treasures,

the tears produced in the words planted in the gardens of our soul.

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, thank you for your wonderful creation, even those in the hollows of my heart. Let that mind, body, and heart only be in You, as You are in me.”

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