I take my seat.
Like cool, comforting hands, air rests gently on my shoulders.
Cheery chickadee excitedly chirps nearby.
Flame red cardinal spectator, still and silent.
Perching Robin rests in expectation.
As the tuning before curtain rise, A bird cacophony becomes symphony.
Backlight bleeds through to accent verdant leaves.
Wafts of fresh bouquet presented.
He makes beautiful things out of dust.
He sees me right now. He knows I’m moved by music, by words. Seed words that bloom into beauty in my life. God has prepared this garden for me… And maybe for others to enjoy.
He is my Home and my Garden. Finding warmth, comfort, nourishment here, I sow last season’s seeds to get a new, fresh harvest for the next.
I desire to walk with Jesus in this garden home – hold His hand. See this place with the eyes of a child.
Eyes like olives, ripe on the tree. A garden of trees, dripping with sustenance. Fruit best crushed, releasing the fragrance and oil of light. Crushed… in my own garden? Of course, oil of words must flow to bring light. Seed for the planting.
Sometimes, through no fault of mine, I find myself in the desert. Jesus teaches me how to give thanks and pray. Suddenly, I find a river in a desert land. And in that river, fertile soil. With dry and bleeding hands I plant these seeds, and He makes all things new again.
(words I received while worshipping with Jason Upton)
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