Thankful for a Knowing God

  "Oh Lord my God, I cried out to You, and You healed me."

Psalm 30:2

            Thanksgiving is a hard holiday for me. I am so grateful for the sweet taste of pecan pie, the smell of cinnamon candles, and the fairy tale ending of the Hallmark movie playing in the background while my adopted mom cooks. I really disliked Hallmark movies freshman year. They were too sentimental; too unreal. Yet, this year, they seem to have snuck their way into my heart despite the fact that the plot is really predictable, and everybody looks like a model. Despite all the predictability, the movies are pure and happy. They always have a good ending. The holidays bring people together instead of pulling them apart. Every character eventually finds a sense of belonging, and they never go back to who they used to be but are changed for the better.

            I have to admit that in this season the holidays are hard for me. I woke up this morning wanting to be thankful for all the many people and blessings God has given me. However, there was another part of me that still wanted other circumstances. I did not feel thankful; I just knew I should be. God had brought me to a place of close intimacy with Him this year. I had made new friends and gained an adopted family, lived in my own little apartment for a month and a half, entered my junior year of college, and had the privilege of hearing 30+ women share their abortion journeys with me. There was a lot I could say “thank you” to God for when I went on my walk this morning.

            At the same time, I do not have a healthy family to spend the holidays with. I am so grateful for my friend’s family adopting me into their home and yet I still lack that sense of belonging. I do not feel like I belong to anyone. Granted, I am twenty-one years old and graduating in a little over a year and growing up involves change and independence. I still want to feel like I belong—that I am loved and part of my own family.

I did thank the Lord on my walk this morning; but, at the same time, I allowed myself to lament to God about the many other parts of my life that I still don’t understand or that still hurt. I told Him about wanting to belong.

            I think one of the most beautiful attributes of God, if not the best, is that God knows me. He knows my heart. He knows my soul. He knows me. Not like how my best friend knows me or even my biological family. He knows me so deeply because He wove me in the womb. He knows everything about me because He made me as I am. He gave me a passion for telling stories, drinking tea, and watching BBC dramas. He even knows the number of hairs on my head and even the spontaneous freckles that dot my nose now. Who would have thought that I would develop freckles at twenty-one? It is a silly question perhaps to ask, but He knew.  

            It is a precious truth that God knows you and me. Even when we do not feel it or that knowledge does not hit us as special on a particular day, that truth remains. I can say “thank you” to my God for that truth—for knowing me. I can also thank Him that I can lament as a believer. Lamenting is not hopeless. Lamenting is not despairing. It is a cry of the heart of a child to that of his or her Father. It is one of feeling and yet one of faith. To lament is the cry of the soul to its Creator that all is not as it should be and only He can make it right. Only He can heal where broken slits in the heart still remain. His Son’s sacrifice made that healing possible.

            I am thankful for that.

Contentment: Wanting God and His Plans

 

“Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord!”

Psalm 27:14

            The word “contentment” scares me. There is something ominous about the word when I hear it. To me, it implies being stuck in life circumstances that I want to change. Being content gives God a free pass to not change anything about my life, right?

            This thought pattern of mine has been challenged this week. What does it truly mean to be content? Is being content supposed to be a scary thing or is it really the key to joy and hope in this life? I had one of those moments today when I was tempted to wish my life were different or that past events had not turned out as they had. I took a few minutes to pray about it before trying to push the thoughts aside. I decided to open my Bible app to read the verse of the day just in case it might happen to be encouraging. You never know. It was, but not the way I expected nor necessarily wanted.

            “Wait on the Lord,” the verse of the day began, “be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord!” Wait for what? Past events to reverse and for me to direct the outcomes? For my dreams of the future to be fulfilled and before my eyes tomorrow? To wait for my problems to vanish away like morning mist after a fresh rain?

            No. The verse of the day simply said to take courage because He will strengthen my heart. All I must do is wait for Him. The verse did not promise that God would fix all the inconveniences or pains of my life tomorrow. The verse did not bid me smile for He would wipe away all my problems. Psalm 27:14 promised something better. It promised me God. It told me that God sees my pain. He sees my hurt. He will take care of my heart where others have left scars. He will take care of me because He loves me. He will strengthen me so that I can serve Him and others without hindrance—without continually looking back like Lot’s wife at what I have lost but instead looking ahead at what and Who I have gained.

            Psalm 27:14 spoke of contentment. Contentment is not a throwing up of your arms and a disgruntled sigh bidding God have His way and just keep you miserable. It is a voluntary deepening of your breath and an opening of your shaky hands to God. It is choosing to wait on Him and to praise Him in the waiting. Contentment is raising your head to the Father, even if tears blind your vision, and acknowledging that His ways are higher than yours. They are not orchestrated to make you miserable or to keep you stuck. His ways are to bring you closer to His heart. To embrace discontent is to remain stuck.

            How do I be content? I cannot be on my own. I have begun to ask God to allow His spirit to open my hands to Him and to let praise be the fruit of my lips (Hebrews 13:15). I still am afraid of contentment. I still struggle with wanting my life situations to change. I struggle everyday with even wanting to praise God. Yet, I know contentment is a gift that will bring me closer to Him and align my heart to His plans for me.

            I want Him and His plans for me, even when they involve the hard…so much.

 

My Hungry Heart

“He reveals deep and secret things;
He knows what is in the darkness,
And light dwells with Him.”

Daniel 2:22 

            The heart is a deep place. A college student could be standing in line at the supermarket with a heart that feels as heavy as solid steel. Maybe she is worried about the future. The past has been so hard, she thinks. How can the future be better? The man at the self-checkout in front of her scanning a box of Kellogg’s cereal might just have lost his dad to cancer. Maybe his heart is pondering the meaning of life. He does not want to think that yesterday in the nursing home was the last time he would ever see his dad. Life would not be so cruel, would it? How about the woman in the professional Loft suit walking out with a bag of groceries and a skinny, Almond milk latte? Sure, she has a Lamborghini and an executive position in D.C but her heart is pining for something deeper—something more meaningful. She has money. She has influence, but her heart does not have hope. Maybe taking another swig of the latte will force that restlessness down deeper into her heart—deep enough so she does not feel it.

            Our hearts wrestle every day. The heart is so deep and intricately woven that it longs for ultimate satisfaction. It longs for love, acceptance, peace, and true freedom. Yet, so many times, we are tempted to fill our hungry hearts with the temporal to calm their restless waves. I know for me it is easy to look to my own reasoning to try and solve my way out of the restlessness in my heart. Other times, I look to physical comforts to help me feel wanted and desired. For a long time, I did not know that there were deep parts of my heart—very deep parts—that wanted to be filled. Hurt parts that needed filling. With what? I did not know.

It was not until I lost the temporal acceptance, love, and “peace” that I wanted that I realized the depths of my heart. It was not until the ground of my heart had been torn up that I realized that there was only one anecdote. There was only one way to feed my heart. It was to allow God there. To allow God into the secret places of my heart—to the deep, deep parts—so my heart could taste the light of satisfaction.

I wrestled for so long with God about the deep parts of my heart. I was afraid to let Him go there. I did not trust Him to feed my heart in the best way. How about the temporal things that gave momentary but quick “peace” to my heart? How about making my dreams come true? Wouldn’t that satisfy the insatiable hunger in my heart? Jesus knew the answer. He knew they would not. He knew that those temporal things were holding me back from the blessings and hopes that only He could give my heart. My own reservations were keeping my heart from knowing the light and absolute beauty of a heart prostrate before God. All its deep parts no longer hidden but exposed in the sun of shining but purifying Holiness.

            My heart still has moments of deep craving for temporal pleasures to fill those deep, sometimes painful parts. Yet, it has tasted restoration and healing in the light of its Creator and I am afraid it is hooked for the present. I do not think it is a remedy my heart will ever let go of. It has found the acceptance, love, and peace it has longed for since the beginning. I have discovered that only God can fill my heart. Only He knows the secret parts. Only He can understand them. Only He can bring them to light. Only He can give the pleasures of this life that are best for me…and my heart.

A Remembrance

  "And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart."

Jeremiah 29:13

    A young girl waits expectantly on a sidewalk outside of a mental facility. She has been there for months. So much hurt behind and yet so much hope ahead. She sees a little fuzzball of a puppy in the arms of her sister and she cannot stand still. She runs to greet her furry friend and scoops him up for a kiss. How glad she is to be going home! Her mom stands by with the camera videotaping the moment and the young girl's sisters stand beside her. The healing journey began several months ago; it isn't over. It is true that the world dealt her a hard blow at such a young age. She knows what it is like to be unloved, to be used, and to be afraid. She knows what it is to cry--not the tears a girl cries when her mom grounds her from going to a birthday party or when the cute kid next door doesn't acknowledge her existence.

    Her tears come from a broken heart, a broken life. Broken, but not crushed. Bruised, but not vanquished. 

    Our world is so broken. Women and children, like the young girl above, should not know what it is like to be physically or emotionally abused. Men should not have to search for their identity in the suitcases they hold or the cars they drive. Young adults should not have to turn to drugs and sex to make them feel that life matters. People should not have to live broken lives, always in search of a remedy. 

    Oh, how desperately the people of our world long to be remembered! How much the wandering heart desires a home, a safe place, where he or she can be told everything is okay because there is someone there who loves them, who remembers them. They are not forgotten; they are not unloved and unwanted. They are pursued by the Creator of the Universe. 

    They are remembered. 

    God has been bringing the theme of "remembrance" to mind over and over again this week. As I have been studying Genesis for my Theology I college course, I have been intrigued by the number of times God remembered people in the Bible. God remembered Noah (Genesis 8:1) during the Great Flood and stilled the tumultuous cleansing of the earth. God remembered His promise to Abraham (Genesis 19:29) and saved his nephew Lot from the fiery destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. God remembered Hagar in the wilderness when she fled from the harsh treatment of Abraham's wife and comforted her (Genesis 16:7-13). Hagar called Him "You-Are-the-God-Who-Sees" (Genesis 16:13). God remembered Leah and opened her womb because she was unloved by her husband Jacob (Genesis 29:31). God remembered Rachel and opened her womb when she pleaded for a child of her own (Genesis 30:22). 

    The list is endless! Joseph, Rahab, Hannah, Ruth, Daniel, Mary, Paul...The Lord remembered them all.

    He remembers you, dear one. 

    The Lord works such great wonders in hardship, in brokenness. Our failures and weaknesses become vessels of beauty that run to meet their Maker instead of cowering in the dark. God wants your brokenness so He can show you what it means to be whole. It is not an easy journey, nor is it one that seems to promise beauty at the outset. Yet, God's love is so deep that He will not let you stay the same. He will not let the brokenness have the last word. He will turn your tears into laughter and the beat of your failing heart into a powerful anthem that no fear or failure can drown out. 

    God is doing that for me. A year ago, I did not know what it was to cry or to laugh or to see myself as God does. Not really. I had never processed hurts from my past when I walked onto my college campus as a timid freshman in 2018. I had not come to grips with the fact that I had a dysfunctional family. I never realized how fast I had to grow up as a child. I had an emotionally unstable dad to care for and an unloved mother to nurture and an angry sister to appease. A memory of waking up at 3 a.m. and hearing my mom crying in the closest. Another of my sister holding me because she just wanted to feel safe. And how about the Christmas we were all gathered around the tree and nobody wanted to be there? My sister did not want to get out of bed. Why celebrate as a family when that word had lost its meaning for her? 

     Most of the members of my family have not changed much. My mom has been slowly healing from her past but still remains in an unhealthy living situation. My dad is pursuing his own path but still does not know how to love others. My sister is a freshman in college now. How I treasure her! And yet, her heart is deeply broken and she still does not know it. Or, maybe she does but only trusts in fictional characters to empathize with her pain and comfort her. 

     Broken lives. Broken hearts. Yet, not forgotten. Not hopeless. 

    And there is me. A twenty-year-old, junior journalism student who, by the grace of God, is discovering that brokenness can become a thread for a beautiful tapestry instead of an inscription on a gravestone. God has taken me on an incredible journey since my freshman summer. I have cried the bitterest tears and prayed the most desperate prayers as my insecurities and unhealthy thought patterns have raged like wildfire through my veins. Yet, now, even though I am still working to believe truth about God, how He sees me, and find joy in the pain, I can laugh more freely than I have ever before. I can cry tears of joy and tears of sorrow. I now walk with more confidence and with my head held several inches higher!  I can see God's hugs to me more distinctly through the week. I can hear His heart beat just a little bit more clearly.  Oh, how sweet it is! It is so sure. So true. I may waver, but He does not. My heart may beat one thousand beats in a second because I begin to listen to the anxious thoughts swirling in my mind or stop all together in frozen panic. But, God's heart does not stop. It does not stop; it is beating out of love for me. 

    He is taking the brokenness of my past to make me into the beautiful woman of God He wants me to be. He delights in me and He will not allow the enemy to have the last word in my life. I do not know why He has chosen me out of everyone in my dysfunctional family chain and yet He has. He wants to show me His love. He wants me to know His love so intimately that I will not have to see it to believe it. He wants me to know Him as the safe, loving, and good God He is. He wants me. 

    God loves me. He remembers me--just like Hagar in the wilderness and Hannah in the tabernacle. Just like that girl in front of the mental facility surrounded by her loved ones. 

    Ask Him to show you that He remembers you. Seek Him and He will be found by you. He is not the mistakes of your parents, the hurts of your friends, or the fears of your heart. He is...your perfect daddy, your best friend, and the hope and strength of your heart. 

    

Fear is a Liar

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”

2 Timothy 1:7

Is the resurrection not a beautiful thing? Christ rose again and defeated death. He made a way for you and me to come home to Him when our time on earth is done. Yet, His resurrection also provided the key to escape the sins that so easily entangle us so we can run this race of faith not with resignation but with hope. Fears no longer have to have the final say since Christ has died. The mistakes of parents or the dysfunction of one’s home does not define your future. It doesn’t define mine.

I don’t know God’s plans for me. Yet, I believe He will show Himself faithful in more beautiful ways than I could have imagined or dreamed. I want so badly to desire what He desires and as I seek Him I believe He will bless me and that His favor will shine upon me as the sun on ripe grain stalks.

God has shown Himself so faithful over this summer by providing me with more than I needed and in many ways redeeming what the locusts had eaten in my life. Family, friends, laughter, sweet memories—all good things from the Father above.

When the beginning of this pandemic hit, I remember how confused and angry I was that it had to come on top of what already seemed like a famine in my life. I remember sitting in my apartment in Hamilton, Virginia wondering why God could possibly be doing all this. Not only did I feel alone but it seemed I was alone. There were no friends down the hall to console me or the familiar schedule of school to take my mind off of my problems. I looked at a small sign on my wall that read: “Let us be silent that we may hear the whisper of God.” I began to realize as the weeks passed in isolation that I was not alone. In solitude, I had been sheltered by a loving Father. In my tears, God had leant an attentive ear. One that did not judge or admonish but listened and cared. Through that experience, I began to learn how to hear God’s whisper. It was not that I had never heard it before but I desperately sought it like a precious lifeline when the world was silent, when life was silent.

God provided for the small things. He provided my daily bread not only physically when I had so little financially but also daily. He provided strength when I had days of sleepless nights. He provided constant friends who prayed for me and showed their love, even in just a text. He provided delights to my soul like morning walks and warm cups of chamomile tea and moments of worship with my Savior in the comfort of my living room. Not to mention how He gave me an opportunity to learn how to cook! 😉

Christ has brought me to my fears not to leave me and laugh at my anguish but instead to allow me to see Himself through it. To show me that what I fear is not my master but simply a laughing liar. What I fear is not worth my fear. He has a plan. In the pain of losing my plan, He is saving me from the worse pain of allowing my fears to control me. In the pain of losing my plan, He is preparing me for the joys He has set before me and to be able to hold them with open hands because I trust Him, not my fears.

How my heart longs for resurrection! I do not want fear to be my master. Praise be to God who has started that work in me and through His Spirit is giving me ears to hear His whisper and a heart that has begun to hope. I don’t know what He has planned but something tells me it will be me laughing at my fear one day, not the other way around.

Will my fear ever go away? I am not sure. I may always struggle with the temptation to fear but I am hoping and I believe that fear won’t define my life or dominate my thoughts. My prayer is that I can live a life with open hands—rich, meaningful—full of demonstrations of His fulfilled promises.

I will keeping going to see what He does in my life. Will you?

                                                        

The Best Story: My Life

"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, 

says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, 

  to give you a future and a hope."

                     Jeremiah 29:11                    

    God is good. That sounds so simple and yet, in reality, I don't believe it. I believe God has good plans for those close to me and I am so good at encouraging others and reminding them of God's faithfulness. Yet, when it comes to myself, I intellectually know God is good but I don't believe He will be good to me. I believe my plans for my life are better. My story should be written my way; not God's way. To accept anything less, is to condemn myself to a life of self-denying martyrdom. I think it is easier to grasp onto this bitter thought when life is hard. When I feel pain, it is much easier to believe God has called me to hardship than to see the hardship as actually a step in His loving plan for me. It is harder to accept that God's plan, even if it involves pain, is actually better than my own. 

    God has given me so many encouragements this summer but it has been easier to look at the glass half-empty instead of half-full. I am so grateful that my God is a God who hears my prayers and sees my tears and cares. He cares! Yet, through it all, He asks me to lay down my plans and accept with thankfulness the plans He has for me. That doesn't mean I have to like my circumstances or be a naive optimist who thinks the world is made of roses but instead know that, no matter what God's plan for me, it is actually good. It is better than mine. It is something I will delight in as He makes His desires my own. He just asks me to give mine over. 

    That sounds scary, doesn't it? But, what if that means all the desires I have now never come true? So be it. That means God's are better. That means my version of my life, which seems the best to me, actually is subpar to the story God is writing for me. I can believe that because Jeremiah 29:11 says so. My feelings don't agree. In fact, often they don't. But, God has me on a journey to renew my mind in His promises. Something tells me that He is going to come through, and my story will be beautiful. So much more beautiful than my own. Lord, help me to believe it! I don't want to trade my plans because I think they are better. Forgive me, and set me free to pursue yours. Make my desires your own. Please, write that story and make my life the best story. 

And the Lord Remembered Her

"...and the Lord remembered her." 

1 Samuel 1:19

-And the Lord Remembered Her-

And the Lord remembered her.

Such beautiful words.

Hannah prayed; she wept; she spoke from the anguish of her heart.

And the Lord remembered her.

He turned her mourning into dancing

Because He who called her is faithful.

The daughter who had no home—He remembered her.

His word says that He puts the solitary in families.

The daughter who could never cry—He remembered her.

The tears now flow in pain and in joy.

The daughter who was afraid to hope—He remembered her.

She has begun a journey to see His dreams become her own.

Such beautiful dreams they are.

She knows not where they will lead.

All she knows is that He remembers her.

When she sucks her breath in for fear of the unknown,

Her heart whispers that the Lord remembers her.

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you,” He whispers,

“Thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.

I am your Rock; your Stronghold; your Deliverer. I will never forsake you.”

Is it not sacred that He remembers her!

Through all of life—every step, every tear, every laugh, every hope—

He remembers her.

He remembers me. 

Walking by Faith

"I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,

And in His word I do hope."

Psalm 130:5

"Walking by Faith" 

I walk among the fields of time, seemingly alone. 

My hand brushes the tall stocks of wheat--I feel blood trickling down my finger. 

I look down and cry in despair as my foot scrapes against a stone. 

I stumble forward, only to slip in a muddy bog. 

I raise my head; tears streaming down my face. 

Sometimes, I hate this walk of faith. 

I vow not to rise but to sink beneath the bog. 

I care not that flies dive about my face. 

Neither do I wish to continue in this race. 

I lay my head upon my muddy hand and cry. 

Tears that I have never felt so easy, nor so free. 

The pain is within; even the tears cannot cure it. 

I seek to pray, but even then my words stray. 

I want to pray for change in my circumstances. 

The world in my heart and all around is full of turmoil. 

However, I know that God loves me. 

I am not a lonely sheep. 

The mud is temporary; but the fresh wheat eternal. 

I stumble to my feet but only fall back into the bog. 

My feelings are not strong enough to topple this stormy inward cloud. 

I feel strength only to take another step.
But will that be enough? 

I begin to panic; I begin to fear. 

What will happen the next step; will there be more tears? 

My heart sinks within me and yet in You I have hope. 

Teach my heart in the bog to sing Thy praise. 

And want Thee alone; not the things I crave. 

Be my all on this walk of faith. 

May Thy face be my reward. 

O, Lord, beckon thy eternal sword! 

Till you come, teach my heart in the pain that your love is stronger than the rain; 

Let my eyes see Thy purposes unfold. 

May my eyes alight with the beauty of that sight. 

May I laugh so all the world may see.

All my tears were simply a path to the joy of Thee. 

I walk by faith; I walk by faith; I walk by faith. 

May I never walk another way. 

Please help my sinking heart obey. 

You are my strength and hope You claim. 

Teach me what that means. 

Teach me what walking by faith brings. 

Change my heart to be satisfied with Thee. 

On this walk of faith, may not all dark be. 

Resurrect the seed of my heart

And let not the brokenness claim the last word. 

On this walk of faith, turn my eyes. 

Turn my eyes to Thee. 

I am standing in the bog; a presence is beside me. 

I feel a surge of hope. Yes, I am beaten--I see no outward change. 

But, my heart is being renewed day by day. 

It has started and I do not want to go back. 

Onward soul, through the field of time. 

At the end, is the physical presence of the Divine. 

In the Garden

In the Garden

            A little girl bent over a patch of weeds in a small garden. Well, the garden seemed small to her but if one could look from the sky one would see the vast garden of the estate. However, this little girl was only concerned about a small patch in front of her. And well she should be. Her Father had only bestowed upon her stewardship of that patch. She could encourage others in the work of their patches but she could not do the work for them. She had to attend to the garden her Father had given her. Yet, this little girl was struggling. She had not noticed just how many weeds had implanted themselves deep in her garden’s soil. They were tough weeds too. She pulled and pulled. Desperately she pulled but to no avail. The sun beat down upon her head and made the work even more exhausting. She kept asking her Father for aid but He was not giving her the strength to pull them. She wanted to do it, though. Yes, He could give her strength but she did so want to pull the weeds out herself. She tried for the fiftieth time but the weeds were too deep.

            The little girl let out a sigh of frustration and collapsed upon the greenery in front of her. The sun’s light began to fade and she became desperate. She jumped up and began to pull the tops of the weeds off. While they came off rather easily, the roots still remained and the weeds were still there. The little girl became so absorbed on cutting the tops—she could do that—that she neglected to remove the roots. She hoped removing the tops was enough. It was not. The weeds still remained; and the lovely flowers that the little girl wanted to bloom could not. There was still no room for them to truly breathe.

            Tears formed in the child’s eyes. She was frustrated and confused. How desperately she wanted those flowers to bloom! The sun was leaving! How could she pull those weeds out now without its aid? Clouds began to roll in and the sun’s light was almost gone. It would be night soon. Perhaps it would rain. The little girl began to cry. She felt so confused and alone. What was going to happen to her garden? How was she ever going to restore it to life again? The flowers had to bloom. They just had to.

            She felt a gentle but firm hand upon her shoulder. She looked up and saw the sure figure of her father. He gazed upon her with tenderness and a quiet strength. “What are you doing, child?” he asked.

            “I am trying to pull out these weeds. They are killing everything. My flowers cannot grow…” The little girl began to cry again and she looked into her father’s eyes. “Why did you not come earlier? Why did you not give me strength to fight them when the sun was out?” The little girl’s father did not reply right away but instead took the child’s hands in his and put them upon the first of the weeds. The little girl shook her head and pulled away.

            “Please, father, not that one. It has thorns all over it; it is going to hurt.” Her father’s eyes softened with compassion. He kissed her forehead and looked into her eyes again.

            “I will be holding you the whole time. You have to trust me.” The little girl’s eyebrows furrowed and she hesitated.

            “But, what if…”

            “Trust me. Surrender to my will, daughter. I love you. The pain is only for a moment; but joy comes in the morning,” her father gently countered. The little girl’s eyes filled with tears again but she nodded her assent. He tenderly but firmly took her hands and again placed them on the first weed.

            The first thorn pierced the little girl’s hands. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “It hurts, father, please stop,” she cried. She could feel her father’s loving arm encircle her. She had closed her eyes in pain but when she opened them she saw that her father’s hand was bleeding too. The thorn had pierced his hand as well.

            “I am with you. Trust me,” he whispered. The little girl nodded and held his hand tighter as a second thorn stabbed into their hands again. The weed was beginning to give way as the root appeared above ground. Another thorn stabbed their hands but this time the root was out of the soil. Rain began to fall and the sun was gone.

            Tears fell one by one like a rushing waterfall down the girl’s cheeks. Her feet could not feel the ground anymore. She could not feel her hands. All she could feel was the touch of her father’s arm around her waist, upholding her trembling frame. He was crying too. She wanted so desperately to pull back and give up. What good was it to continue? It would take forever to remove all those weeds! But, she knew she had to trust him. He was the only one who could really bring beauty to her patch of garden again.   

            The blood continued to trickle down her hands but they were mingled with the blood of her father’s. His tears were running down her cheeks now for he had bent even closer so she could more keenly feel his touch amidst the pain. The weeds were coming out; she knew that was what mattered. She could feel nothing but his touch; that had to be enough. Joy comes in the morning. She had to hold onto that. Her father had promised that; He never broke His promises.

            Another weed came out. And another. And another. And another.

            Amidst her pain, the little girl saw a small bud of a flower growing where a patch of weeds had been. The flowers had room to breathe now that a patch of roots had been pulled out. Was that a purple flower? That was the little girl’s favorite color. She smiled through her tears. There was beauty coming. The pain was real but she could feel strength and joy returning to her heart. But, this time was a more solid joy—a more real hope. Her garden was being restored! And her father had done it. Her father had done it.

            It dawned on her that she could feel her feet upon the ground again. She looked down at her hands. They were scarred but the blood was gone. She felt her father’s presence beside her. His arm was still about her waist but this time she did not need to have pain to feel it. He was there; and she knew he loved her still despite how desperately she had tried to kill the roots herself. He had come to make her garden new. The sun began to come out again; slowly but surely its rays fell upon her garden patch again. She smiled and laughed—a true and real laugh.

            “Oh, daddy, look at the saplings springing from the ground! You have healed my garden! You have healed my garden!” The little girl held tightly to her daddy and smiled even more broadly. “You have given me the desires of my heart—for they are yours too. You made mine yours.”

            Her daddy smiled and held her scarred hands in his own. “Trust me. I promise beauty from ashes; and I never break my promises.”