A Place to Come Back To

Squash Blossom

A garden is a place you return to each planting season. And then each evening when you pick the beans or corn. We return in the early morning sun to water and weed. It is where the farmer must go at season's end to plow under the wilted plants to nourish the soil. For so many reasons, it is a place to come back to.
That means it is a place of belonging. You never feel out of place. It is a place of quiet ususally, never crowded but you don't feel lonely. It is a place of purpose, and of plenty. It is a place of order. So your paths are certain. It is a place of wonder, and of life. It is a place of hope and expectation. It begins as seeds or seedlings with hopes of a yeild. When the plants wither and are plowed into the soil, it is because they are expected to give hope for good soil next year. It is a place of looking forward. Of planning and dreaming. It is a place where you get what you must do - done. And on a hot day a place to hurry your work along. But each day it is a place to return to.
For Jesus, Gethsemane was a place to return to. We don't know why he chose this garden. We only know it provided a place where he might pray. So for that reason alone it was a place to return to. I like however to imagine that it was a beautiful place so it was a place he liked to go. It must have been a place where all of the disciples could find rest, so it wasn't too small. I like to believe that it was a place they also liked to go. When God first formed Adam it was in a garden. So it must be a place of His heart's desire in which to commune with us.  Was it a place where they could find food for picking, shade from the sun, a place to be off the streets in the evening? A refuge - a place to be that was familiar and they liked being there.
If we think about a garden that frames the walk or directs you to the front door, it is there because it makes home a nicer place to come back to each day.
So often out in the world, I feel I don't belong. But in the presence of God when I return to pray, I never feel like I don't belong.  And to me, it is the best reason I know to have a prayer garden, a place I can come back to, because I know He wants me there.

I never believed one has to be in any certain place to pray. God hears us wherever we are. Jesus didn't have to go to Gethsemane to pray. The Father listened to Him and answered His prayers anywhere He was. Jesus chose to go there. Scripture instructs us to pray without ceasing. It wasn't a place to catch up on His prayers. It wasn't to face off with God, but Christ did choose this place to ask that His cup of misery be taken from Him. And a place where The Father came back with a resounding "NO." Was it the place where, away from the crowds, he could become vulnerable with the Father? Where He could pray for himself and the disciples instead of the thronging crowds? I think so. It was a private place. It was the place he went even though he knew it was the place he could be found. So it was the place of submission. I am an analytical person as anyone can see. So I over see into things sometimes. But on an emotional level, loving gardens the way I do, I believe it was a place to return to before the centurions came to take him away, because he wanted to visit there one last time.

My childhood home was like that. A place of garden memories, a place that I had to go back to one last time. I am thankful for the memories I have of past gardens there. There are a lot of bad things to cloud memories sometimes, but I go back there in my mind now and I think of - warm soft dirt in between my toes, the smells of vegetables as you past by the rows. I think of the buzzing of the bees in the okra blooms way above my head, the stakes and the string, the buckets and drinking water from the hose. I think of color and textures, fuzzy leaves, monkey faced snap dragon pods, discovery of the first tiny fruits and the wonderful meals made from the armloads of things that grew there. Wish I had one of those meals.  Yep, a garden is a place to come back to. I think of walking ahead of my daddy between the plow and his feet. He led me to believe I was plowing the rows. We planted fairly late because we lived so near the lights of a baseball park that the outfield lights made us able to see way past dark, and the air was cool and soil was warm. I remember the smell as the earth rolled over the blade of the plow. Daddy was kind then, patient and forgiving. He taught me how many seeds to a hole. He'ld say, "Don't press the soil down to hard, watch where you walk, don't miss a hole."  Now my Mama's garden, well that is another story. Daddy let us plant in his, Mama did her own. But the soil in their gardens was fertile and easy to dig. If I began to make parallels between being in the garden with my dad, and being in the prayer garden with God, I would be here forever. Which brings me to my last point of why Jesus went back to the Garden of Gethsemane. It was where he prayed, "Heavenly Father..." And the Father was there.

~Thank you Father for meeting me Here.~