The sun begins its nightly descent as I continue on my labors. I have spent much time in thought today, and did not accomplish as much as my heart desires. It is well, though, because the Lord is my strength, my rock and my deliverer. The time spent laboring in the garden is not adding to some running total in the hopes of winning my salvation; it is an offering back to the God who has offered me so much more than I can repay. I have no dreams of re-creating such beauty as exists here; I merely want my time to be used in such a way that God knows how grateful I am for all that God has done.
As the darkness of night begins to infiltrate the day I notice something else racing in on the wings of darkness. I notice clouds, gray as death, moving swiftly in my direction. My head swivels instinctively towards the forest, an innate reaction to seek shelter from the storms in the shadowy canopy offered there. My foot turns, leading my entire body to begin to shift when I cry out. Surely the first sign of rain shall not drive me from this place. Rain must come to nurture the garden, to offer the gift of life to all that grows here. Am I included in that?
I nervously glance at my tools, some of them glowing in the evening light, others with exposed wires reminding me of the delicate electronics that exist within. Am I to abandon this place and seek shelter from the rain in the forest, where chaos abounds? Or do I remain exposed to the elements and trust in God that I will persevere.
I cry out in my distress. Surely the Lord will save me from this storm. Surely I will not be left exposed, uncovered, unsheltered as the winds blow, as the rain beats, as the thunder shakes the foundations of my life. Surely there is some hope.
The clouds race quickly, being chased by the coming night, and I remain frozen in place, my foot turned towards the forest, my spirit twisting in the rising wind. Do I run in fear? Or stubbornly, steadfastly remain in hope?
In that wavering moment I feel the first rain drop alight upon my hand. I look down and see its broken self, shattered upon my hand, pulled down by gravity. I turn my hand and it balances, frozen in the moment, before it is joined by a brother, and then another, and soon my hand is covered in droplets interrupted in their path toward the ground. I hear them colliding with the earth, nestling into the grass, being caught by the fence, shattered upon the bench. I watch as they regroup and form pathways downhill, running with speed from where they have landed. I watch as my clippers and shears are soon covered in drops, then the weedeater, too. I am afraid, and cry out.
In that moment, I have a dream of the Lord racing down. It is matched with a mighty roar of thunder and a flash of lightning unlike another I have seen. In my wonder I clasp my chest, certain that it has been rent in two by the mighty roar or the terrible flash. My ears ring as light permeates the darkening world, the forest illuminated for a moment before returning to shadowy twilight. In that moment, I am no longer alone.
The Lord abides. He reaches down through the mighty rains, now thrashing around me, upon me, within me. As my clothes become saturated and my spirit downtrodden, he extends his victorious right hand and grasps my soul within it, assuring me that I am not alone. He does not halt the raindrops from pummeling my existence, but every cell of my being cries out that in that moment, standing in the garden of my soul, waiting for my deliverer, I am not alone.
The Lord has rewarded me for my loyalty. Perhaps my cries in the wilderness did not go unheard, but I have never felt this overwhelming power in my heart before. Not once did I gasp for air like I do now, uncertain of my next breath but sure of everything else. Never has my entire body tingled in the grasp of the Almighty like it does now, held by the perfect Lord who leads me in his paths. I am aware, more than ever, that it is the Lord who empowers me to tend to this garden, to resist the forest’s lures, to hurl weeds from my presence. It is God who trains my hand to plant and pluck up, just as it is God who sets me in this wide meadow and ensures the forest does not overtake me. They cried out to the skies, but my enemies found no help. It is the Lord who delivers me, and as my clothes and my being soak up the evening rain, I no longer shudder in fear or uncertainty, I shudder in awe of who God is. The Lord delivers me, not from the rain of the evening, but from the eternal storms that threatened to swamp my soul. Every fiber of my being knows its Creator is, and that being cries out once more, this time in praise to its Maker, even in the storm.
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