The Gardener Of My Heart
Posted on | February 24, 2011 | No Comments
as written February 23, 2009
Adam: Long story short we are moving forward very fast and some parts of us have not caught all the way up. Our souls are making big steps.
Monica: And we haven’t caught up to them?
Adam: Right. The steps are tearing up roots. I see us as gigantic tress pulling our roots out every step.
Monica: Are roots ever good to plant, then?
Adam: Yes. When the bad roots are gone we plant and our perfect roots stretch across the worlds…
It seems that in addition to him loving me and me loving him – he is also here to consciously help me to heal from the pain I am still in. We sit in common conversation, and it’s like his very proximity tugs at the sore spots within me. He senses this, every time, and then here is the intimacy that testifies to me he is a personal miracle sent by God: he reaches over, tenderly, and places his hand over my heart. And his touch…literally pulls the pain to the surface. I can feel it be yanked up by the root; where it had grown deep and enmeshed. But it is no match for this man’s healing touch. My tears come as the ripping pain threatens to pull me under, but as he talks me through it, the agony ebbs, and I release it and let it go…and then allow his love to sweeten all the places where once was only pain.
He is the gardener of my heart…tilling the forgotten soil, pruning the branches that no longer bear vibrant fruit, setting fire to the roots that only hold me hostage, and planting the great vineyard that I was always meant to become.
He walks softly and swiftly to each and every continent and country and valley within my heart that needs tending. Then he kneels down, gently, and with my permission his flames touch the tender and aching skin and set it ablaze. It makes him shudder with the baptism of pain it causes me…but his fire is not meant to burn forever. It extinguishes quickly, having done what it is meant to do. Quickly and efficiently, Adam soaks up the blood with a pure white cloth, validating the heartbreak and courage and agony…leaving it as a testament to my journey. He adds it to the growing pile of stained cloth, then softly applies a healing balm with his bare hands- covering the open wound with a sustaining salve that leaves no poison behind…only the fresh, pink beauty of new skin. New love. New life….Hope.
He moves at a steady pace, according to the permission I grant him. One after another, the fire is applied, and then the balm. I see the roots that litter the hallways of my heart...and realize the work that I have done before he came. I have let out the ocean of water that flooded through my heart, muting my own life and numbing my pain. I floated in a world where I could hear no one trying to reach me, especially myself. In finally turning inward (because of the pain Brent gave me the chance to feel), I finally decided that I did not want to drown within, without ever seeing my own light- and so I pulled the plug.
The torrent of grief and water and refuse that poured from my soul this past year nearly killed me..and I left puddles and rivers wherever I walked, leaking out a lifetime worth of supression and pain. I see the water dripping from the ceilings as he walks inside me, and the residue of years of algae and seaweed…branches that have dug deep into the flesh of my heart to survive the constant swells and an unforgiving undertow. And it is now, and only now- that my Gardener comes. I was the swimmer, he is not, and waited patiently for me to find my land legs again. I still feel them tremble beneath me, but they are gaining a remembrance of their former strength.
Each time his fire blazes across my eyes, I nearly fall- but the Lord holds me up, and suddenly I am stronger. I feel utterly naked, reeling from the hollowness and endless caverns that now seem huge without the distortion of water. With my escape and survival mechanism drained and discarded, I am reborn again. Birthed within my own heart, instead of standing on the outside. It is now, and only here, that I can finally feel my own heart. It thuds quietly, powerfully, unceasingly. It gives me hope to hear such strength within me. And I start to believe her…
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