The Garden Shelter

There’s a garden where Jesus is waiting,
There’s a place that is wondrously fair;

For it glows with the light of His presence,

’Tis that beautiful garden of prayer. ~Eleanor Schroll

The garden is snow covered. If there were roses, they would be wearing ice beads, not dew. But one thing I know, the voice I hear is the voice of my Lord. The voice of assurance.  The voice of love. The voice of grace. 

Often we come to the place of prayer and one-by-one hand over our requests.  A friend who lost a husband, a home torn apart by divorce, a mother burdened by a prodigal child, and a friend devastated by the diagnosis of cancer. Missionaries traveling through dangerous territories and friends hurt by church politics. Surgeries needed and the insurance company refusing to pay. Children facing daily bullying and teenagers giving away their purity.

God planned it, inspiring Paul to instruct us to "bring our requests unto God (Philippians 4:6). He wants to hear our petitions of physical, spiritual and financial needs. He already knows what we need, but there is fellowship in verbalization.

Quite frankly, some days I grow weary of asking. I'm tired of all the

needs clogging my heart. It is during those times I come to the garden alone. Alone with empty hands. With no desire but to spend time with my Lord. 

God made the seasons and is as comfortable in a snow-covered garden as He is in the warmth of a summer's heat. He walks with me! He talks with me! And to this battle-weary girl, God speaks words of affirmation, "You are mine." 

What grace is wrapped in those three words! The joy of belonging. The tears, always close in these moments with God, overflow. They mix, not with weary tears, tears from heartache or heartbreak. No, as I feel a tear drip on my arm, I see God's tears -- tears of joy in our friendship, and it is then I understand. God loves it when I come to the garden just to be with Him. And my heart sings,

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. (Merle Haggard)