The Gardener

Father, You are the Gardener. My life and heart are the soil of your garden. My hurts, pain and loss are the seeds which you desire to sow if I'll just let them go.

I realize that when I try to hold onto these seeds with a clinched fist it does no good for they cannot grow there. I must release these seeds to you, Gardener of my life, so that you can plant them so they might grow into a beautiful crop with a bountiful, hundred-fold harvest.

All this turmoil I see, death all around me. Gardener of my soul, take these seeds and bury them deep within the soil of this garden. Yet before that can happen I know you must prepare the soil, so till away, scrape and crush the hardened soil of my heart, make it soft and ready. And when it's properly prepared, plant those seeds that I am releasing to you, my Gardener.

Through these losses and heartache I have shed my share of burning tears. Within your Gardening Book you say you keep them all in a bottle, counting every single tear that makes it way down my face. I wonder how large that bottle must be as my tears seem to be growing. I know you have kept them for a reason, waiting for the day when you will pour them over the soil of this garden. Not just a trickle, but a river it must be. You my Gardener, know just when you have enough of my tears stored up for a trickle to become that river, a river deeming with life. So pour, pour those tears over this garden, over those seeds of loss, heartache and even death. You say if we sow in tears we will reap in shouts of joy; this fruit I am so longing to see.

Now I know it's not that easy to grow this fruit I so long to see, but it takes hours of digging and pulling weeds. So dig up those weeds, my Gardener, please. Don't let the weeds of unbelief, anger, disappointment, fear and offense rob me of this harvest you promise to bring. Take that hoe and hack away at those weeds that seem to grow overnight. Don't let them grow to the size of a 50 ft tree. Deal also with the roots of these weeds, for if they are left deep within, I will have to deal with a root of bitterness then. Pull and tug until all are gone.

Now I know I will not see this harvest overnight or even in a week, but I must wait for you my Gardener to say, "The harvest is ready; your faith and shouts of joy are in full!" Let us reap a hundred fold. For where there has been loss, let there be an abundance of Your anointing, Your glory and righteous justice in large uncountable measures.

You my Gardener, know what you are doing when you prune those branches and cut off those strips of me. For you know in the end it will bring about much more fruit than I ever could see. So listen, my Gardener, I am choosing now to abide in You. I am choosing to release my time-table to my garden to you. You are the ultimate Gardener, so I'll step back and let You finish Your perfect work which You started in my garden.