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.”