Praying with Ryder in the Garden

I finally have a reasonable start to a real garden, full of things with little groupings of containers, and arches with vining veggies, and places to sit when I am tired.  Some of my beds are raised so I don't have to bend over, and some are on wheels so I don't have to struggle to move them.  Some are containers with handles so they are easy to carry, and some are on tables so they are easy to reach. Some are hanging baskets, and some planters are quite large.

One of the places that we have to sit is from pieces of felled trees, where the bark has fallen off. They are lying on their sides and the flattest side is up and smooth, so my grandson and I can sit facing one another. The two perches are across the path from one another, and on a good level for talking.  So one day we were talking and I told Ryder of how Jesus liked to pray in a garden of Olive Trees, and he sometimes took his disciples there.  Then I told him how I sometimes liked to pause and pray as I thought of things, and always to be thankful for how beautiful a garden and growing things could be.

I asked him would he like to pray in my garden and he did, so we prayed for friends and loved ones and thanked Jesus for things.  It was a special moment for me. I hope it will be a memory for him, and the first of many times we share prayer there. 

One thing is for certain. His little stuffed rabbit friend who visits with his statue buddies while we work will also be joining us in prayer.  His rabbit is named Carrots, and Carrots goes on many adventures.  And my grandson is giving Carrots a wonderful, storyful life. And we must make sure he learns how to pray. LOL

Blessings to anyone who is working a garden this year in the heat. And may it prosper in spite of  the dry weather this year.  And may you find time to pray a bit in your garden, and remember that Christ prayed for you there in his place. 

God Grant this request for all who have given a garden their time this year.  Please bring nourishment in what ever form their garden has grown, whether flowers or food, may it nourish the soul and the body. In Jesus sweet name, AMEN

The Song That Plays in My Mind

I have called my blog A Garden Called Gethsemane, 1. because Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and 2. because of the song I am about to post.  There were no roses in the Garden of Gethsemane, I suppose.  In fact, as a garden of Olive trees it must have had some special significance for Jesus that went beyond my understanding.  Sometimes, I think about it.

I know it's significance in being the one source for usable oils that could be consumed and or burned, mirrors attributes of the Holy Spirit. That alone makes the whole garden worth contemplating it's value for Jesus.  I think he wanted his followers to realize that once he was gone, his spirit would never be.  I also believe there is a lot to be said about the fact the Garden still stands today, with it's ancient olive trees, or their replacements.  There remains life, beauty, fruit, history, purpose, and prayer...etc. I could go on-- all which emulate the wonders of the Holy Spirit.  All which give me a sense of peace.  It's longevity should by now at least give us a sense of his promise to never leave us. 

The main thing about the song, however that stands out in my mind, is the word "alone."  Alone, when I think of this garden, and of prayer, never means lonely. It means "me and God!"  WOW, can I say that again----WOW!  Me....and GOD. Alone together.  That never ceases to give me exhilaration, hope, joy, peace. A sense of forever, a sense of perfection and wholeness - not as if I was perfect in my own mind or anyone else's. But because of Christ's work...I am perfectly OK in God's eyes.  His creation, His well loved child. There is no judgment in the garden... Again I could go on.

 Where the Lord meets me, the place is like my own garden, full of a sense of expected future yields. Flowers or veggies or simply as a hiding place for all kinds of life, it never leaves me empty.  I love to have my camera in my gardens, at some point, to capture bits of the moment when evidence of its life and change occur. Because they are fleeting moments, and full of change and seasons.  Like life, they scream to me that these processes are straight out of infinity and in the ever-present NOW at the same time.  The very air screams "you are never alone!" No wonder, my favorite way to meet with God is alone.

So, the phrases of this song play in my mind when I think of prayer and a place to pray.  In my present back yard, I am trying to make places to pause, and hopefully experience those moments with God through the power of his Holy Spirit.  Moments for prayer, to meditate upon him and his creation, to be thankful for all it symbolizes, and for its gifts.  Food and beauty, a reason to live and a sense of purpose. 

"And He walks with me ...and He talks with me..."  Well, let the song speak for itself:

IN THE GARDEN,  by Charles Austin Miles  ~  1912  ~

"AND HE TELLS ME I AM HIS OWN."

Once, 100 years ago, Charles Austin Miles experienced the same blessings from a garden as me. That makes us of one mind, even though he no longer lives.  And there have certainly been thousands of others who have also found themselves ensconced in this precious place with our creator God, and the Spirit that indwells us.  A song like this collects us all into a oneness with God and each other. Something songs are particularly good at doing. Something that also surpasses time and elevates us to a spiritual plane of sorts, and once again dispels any possibility of aloneness meaning being without kindred spirits who know or knew exactly how my heart feels. 

May God be praised, because it is his purpose for providing this encounter. He only desires our Praise as pay. LOL As if we could praise him to within anything near the "pay" he is due.  Loving the garden once more.

Praise God from whom all blessing flow!
Cynthia

Tears Of Joy - from a 5 year old heart

 Anyone who knows me probably knows I am an artsy creature. It's how God made me.  As a child I loved being an artsy creature. It made the world more magical. But it allowed that I could expand on the world I knew by delving into my imagination to create something.
 Oddly, it is also part of why I believed in God, even as a child and especially as an adult.  The Spirit of God has dealt with my heart and mind for all of my life.  And since God is a creator, I felt a kindred spirit.  I always knew that drawing and designing were a gift from him, as well as many of the supplies that I used in my earliest play.

I can play for hours in my Gimp program, with no purpose at all in mind.  Having a purpose for my design makes doing it more difficult than fun.  But for God, I have always thought it must be just the opposite.  I truly believe God must have gotten a lot of fun out of putting his Great design into place and watching his vision grow.  I can, therefore, understand, when we humans decide to not worship him, or even acknowledge him, that he is saddened.

My art is sometimes a means of lifting my own spirits.  Many people I know have issues with the melancholies an artist encounters. They have no tolerance for my tears.  They truly don't understand  why I can't be jolly all the time.  I have heard through out my life the question - "Why are you so serious?" For me, reality is serious, all the laughter and jolliness are forms of denial, and a way of not facing reality.  Life is hard and I just can't laugh it off.  I want solutions, not an ability to put off dealing with reality.  And if it were just me and God, I could go on living life that way.  It's the denial people that make my life hard...LOL. I can laugh about that, you see.

Something I found out, especially as a young woman working in churches, was that my tears were often misread.  I had a pastor once come to me and tell me I could lay it all at the altar, when actually, my tears were evidence of feeling an incredible joy for someone who was saved that morning.  I always believed even angels must be moved to tears, when someone is born again.

Not all tears are about sadness.  I used to cry often. And most of the time, my tears wear tears of joy.  I could be moved at the slightest bit of beauty and it would bring me to tears.  I was full to over-flowing with intense and wonderful emotion.  And people around me would either be wanting to console me, or make me stop crying by shaming me, or cracking jokes.  Why would they take that ecstasy away from me? I never understood.

But as life would have it, I married a man who would eventually do away with my joyful tears.  He was constantly determined to make me smile instead. The result for me has been having health issues, including depressions as a result.  I firmly believe, as well, that many of my physical issues are because I don't have that connection to my world I once had, that which gave me those extremes of joy I once experienced, in child-like freedom. To be who God made me to be.  I  was connected to God in a special way in those times.  I always felt as if he was very near, experiencing that joy along side me. Just because I loved his creation or his work in someone's life, soooo much I cried.

Now that I am older, I have realized - I must be who God created me to be!  AND, I am more vocal, and adamant in my pursuits of being who God created me to be. Tears and Crafty person..all.


I draw more again. I take in the beautiful, to the extent that I sometimes annoy the people around me with my love of the smallest of things. And I leave myself exposed to a lot of criticism.  I still don't cry when the sun sets with a myriad of hues, but I often do when someone is born again. Can't everyone feel the enormity of the God of the universe- bigger than the universe- finding a home in the heart of we who are so small?  Isn't that the most incredible thing? Worth tears - Tears of Joy?

This Christmas, my grandson had two balsa wood craft projects, chosen from lots of sets of kits at our local craft store.  They were nutcrackers, one of his favorite decorations this year.  There is a whole story behind that developing of course.  But to be simple, they arouse in him emotion, for which, from being a boy, his has already been heavily reprimanded for sharing.  So he holds it in inside, to the extent that he even can be heard saying to himself, "I am not going to cry."

Being who I am, I hurt for him.  I worry what effect it will have on his health as well.  But a genuine outward indication of how much he is feeling it, was reflected when he colored his balsa nutcracker crafts.  After meticulously drawing and coloring their uniforms, he drew tiny jagged lines to make the hair and beards look more real, and then from their eyes he drew tears.  I wondered, "had he seen some with tears?," but didn't question. But he asked, "Nana, do you know why they have tears?" as if he read my mind.  As I shook my head "no", he said,

"They are Tears of Joy!  Because they are so happy it's Christmas. "

And to that, I almost cried..."Lord, may he always have Tears of Joy. Please...continue to give him ways to express his ecstasies without reproval."

 I now pray- "may I continue to value my own gift to draw and paint and design my feelings...even my tears of joy. And thank you for this outlet, especially when its for tears of sadness. And especially when the art helps our sadness.  And help us share our Joy, even when we are misunderstood. If not through our tears, then maybe through a more universal expression, our creativity." AMEN