In the Garden

Good morning Abba, Good morning Jesus, Good morning Holy Spirit,

"Don't be afraid, because I'm with you;

 don't be anxious, because I am your God.

 I keep on strengthening you;

 I'm truly helping you.

 I'm surely upholding you with my victorious right hand."

Isaiah 41:10

Oh the joy of being cleansed! That sense that all things have been made right. A clarity that makes everything look unbelievably clean, crisp, and crystal clear. When no negative can touch the joy that is flowing within. The anticipation that He has you covered!

Sometimes when life slows down, there seems to be a distancing... a "what now" void. That's when I realize that it is time for me to "run" back into a mindset, a choice to get closer to our Lord through discussions with the Holy Spirit. A time spent just "being still" in my surroundings. Seeing without contemplating... Listening without asking... Sensing without acting...

What is it our Lord wishes to express and imprint upon my heart, spirit, and soul? Could it be an overflow of His love? Could He be tenderly touching me with His hands of healing? Is there an area that needs weeding from my harvest that He is asking me to surrender and be made new? What if He just wants to spend time with me and just "be" together?

On my patio, walking in my garden, I will visit with him... I will let His presence renew and refresh all of me.

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known. (Refrain)

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

(Refrain)

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

(Refrain)

Words & Music: C. Aus­tin Miles, March 1912:
I read…the sto­ry of the great­est morn in his­to­ry: “The first day of the week com­eth Ma­ry Mag­da­lene ear­ly, while it was yet ve­ry dark, unto the se­pul­cher.” In­stant­ly, com­plet­ely, there un­fold­ed in my mind the scenes of the gar­den of Jo­seph….Out of the mists of the gar­den comes a form, halt­ing, he­si­tat­ing, tear­ful, seek­ing, turn­ing from side to side in be­wil­der­ing amaze­ment. Fal­ter­ing­ly, bear­ing grief in ev­e­ry ac­cent, with tear-dimmed eyes, she whis­pers, “If thou hast borne him hence”… “He speaks, and the sound of His voice is so sweet the birds hush their sing­ing.” Je­sus said to her, “Mary!” Just one word from his lips, and for­got­ten the heart­aches, the long drea­ry hours….all the past blot­ted out in the pre­sence of the Liv­ing Pre­sent and the Eter­nal Fu­ture.