In the Garden

I am thankful.

For peace in the garden. Every morning, i slip away. All my people are sleeping the house is quiet.

First, to the goat pen. The boys with their gentle eyes stretch their legs and tumble out of their little barn, nuzzling noses pushing one another aside to compete for the first morning back rub.

Then the birds. The roosters burst from the coop, with the ladies more cautiously following suit. Clarence emerges from the roost he shares with his unlikely roommates, and waddles and whistles his way to the pond, ever teetering on the line between chicken and duck. Then the geese and Leroy, noisy to mask their cowardice, burst from their little house, honking and quacking to one another with every webbed step.

And now I get to sit. I sit and watch the animals. I sit and observe the trio of hummingbirds that flit about the feeder. I sit and look at the pumpkin vines that daily erupt further out of their beds, trailing out into the garden paths. I sit and enjoy the happy little flowers peeking from their pots and beds.

It isn’t quiet. It’s a chorus of clucking and honking and bleeting and chirping and quacking.

It isn’t quiet. But it is.

It’s my favorite spot to start my day, in the simple beauty of all that God has created, to spend time with Him, in His Word and in His Presence. The world is waiting for me, to pounce on me with worry and busy-ness and 116,426 to-do lists competing for check offs. But in the garden, my hurried heart is still before Him.

And He always meets me there.

Thanks for giving thanks with me.

“In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly.” (Psalms 5:3)

“Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.” (Psalms 90:14)

“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.” (In the Garden, C. Austin Miles)