The Meadow and Garden

Do not plant the seeds of violence in your home, for they will never grow into the blossoms you desire.

I walked with the Lord, and as I looked about me, I found myself in a meadow. He was no longer beside me. I had forgotten Him for a moment, and no more than a moment. I looked up.

“Lord, have You forgotten me? For I find myself alone in a meadow where blossoms once filled the earth. Have I forgotten You for a moment? Have we forgotten You, and pulled all the blossoms from the earth to give something else its bounty? And now we remain upon the earth with only the lingering scent of roses and of lilacs. Lord, how has this happened?”

The clouds moved. The sun was blotted out, and thunder was heard. Dust suddenly filled my nostrils. I held a handful of it, startled and filled with fear, and fell to my knees as my flesh began its transformation into the very dust I held.

“Lord, this cannot be. Have You forsaken us?”

The wind filled my ears, and our voices were left only in the wind.

The Father did not respond. But the wind, holding all our voices, blew through me. I surrendered myself, and the Holiest of Spirits filled me completely. The meadow returned.

“There is life,” I said as I saw. “But, Holiest of Spirits, what of earth?”

And in His most exalted way, He spoke.

“This is the realm of man without the Father, if you forsake Him, if you turn away from the very moment you are in, from the very home you are in.”

A dandelion floated toward me. Its seeds were the seeds of violence, of corruption, deceit, ill will, and much more.

“Notice this, and do so now. Blow upon the dandelion, and do not speak your name as you do.”

And so, knowing this in its immensity, I refused to draw a full breath before blowing those seeds toward the meadow. See this now: I blew the seeds of violence into the meadow and swore, before the very sight I was beholding, that they would not bear fruit.

My utter ignorance. For what had I sown but a weed of corruption in the meadow of Eden?

I closed my eyes, weeping for what was becoming of Eden, and for how we were seeing ourselves as cast out. Behold, what is a man in the light of the Holiest of Spirits, without Him, without earth? Still His child, but without a home. Without our earth.

The air grew warm for a moment. My tears were carried to the ocean, and I heard the waves speak: “Yeshua.” And again, “Yeshua.”

“I cannot. I cannot. I cannot.”

A spirit raised my eyes and spoke.

“Open them.”

And so I did. I caught sight of her for a moment as the light came upon my face.

“Look upon your garden. What was the meadow is your garden. Look at what is happening. Your garden, which I am in love with. Someone is planting the seeds of weeds in your garden, my garden, our home.

“You must know this, man of mine, for it is a folly I have noticed. Your garden, yes, I have seen it. But when they look upon it, they speak of the weeds. They speak of the weeds even though they see the blossoms.

“Man of mine, you must change your ways. You must take care with who and what you know. For I am not seeing the full picture of this would-be gardener who plants the weed instead of the blossom. Yet I think I hear him speaking now in my ear.

“My love, I do not know what this means for me. But I say to you now, in the light of God, you must do away with what he has planted. Pull those weeds and change your ways, so that the garden survives, blossoms, and grows, and our walk together is in Light. This weed has the smell of awkwardness, and, my love, as I kiss you tenderly, I do not want anything awkward in our house.

“And tend to those you know, for he is among them.”

I stood again, seeking to be without the corruption of folly, so as not to misstep before this wonder of creation, my wife. I stepped forward and looked upon my garden: the blossoms, the vines, the trees. And I did see the weeds. They sat in the shade of them, seeming to need more than what was God-given.

I wiped my brow. Beyond my garden, I saw the forest and smiled. Yes, there was more room to grow.

As I labored, I planted a blossom here and there. But beneath the sun I grew weary and tired, reaching into my bucket of innovation, inventions, ambitions even. Suddenly, one blossom was caught in the bucket. I looked up, and the other gardener stood beside me. He had been handing me the blossoms, and now he held one back.

I pulled. He held it back.

I looked at him. It was hot, and the sun was bright.

“Who are you?”

He smiled.

“Well, I am much like you. I even sound like you. Your words, your wisdoms. I have been with you for quite some time. Of everyone you know, and those you have not seen, I am the one who can walk among them unseen.

“You see, I see you. I have every one of the powers and things you do not know about yourself. I wish to be, but at the same time I must remain unseen. I wish to be you, because I look at you and want you. I do love you, in a way you may not yet comprehend.

“I will not leave you. But I want to be you. You and I are the same, but not the same. I cannot allow you to plant this blossom. Let us plant another. I have many, many, endless ones. But this one I cannot allow.”

He turned toward those endless other possibilities. While his back was turned, I planted the blossom anyway and looked up to the sky. And I felt flight before I disappeared from sight.

The other gardener turned back “You see this one is more delightful.” Then looked bewildered, for I was gone and for a moment he stared and wiped his brow.

“Fine!” He spoke bitterly.

He put his tools away and headed back to his house as the Holiest of Spirits caught his shoulder for a moment.

Even he smiles from time to time. Laughs a little.

And so it is.