the man in the middle

"Please remember ...
there's a Creator standing the middle of your story. And he doesn't want you to die alone."
Louie Giglio



I spent yesterday evening pruning and digging through the garden boxes in my backyard. It seems that few other tasks help clear my mind, or focus my mind, like gardening. Particularly weeding.
The box above and to the right was especially thick. Thick with what? That is the question. Grasses, chives, other long plant-like species. One such species has nearly microscopic thorns ALL over it. I mean, covered. Even the leaves. I hadn't seen such a plant since my days in the Amazon. It was beastly. And I was determined to conquer it.

I can still feel the tingling in my fingers from the still present teeny thorns that have made their home in my hand. I couldn't help but think of this experience in a deep, metaphorical sense (as I usually think about simple things in life. God forbid anything to remain simple, practical, or without a gargantuan life lesson buried in it for me).

My brokenness runs deep, like the tough & lengthy roots of the thorny weeds in my garden. And unless you take care of the roots, the weeds will never fully disappear. And still, even after removing the roots, the dang weeds will most likely come back. Because what is a garden without constant maintenance? Where is the joy gained from beauty and growth without the pain of digging, pulling, cutting, and getting a few thorns in your hand?

I guarantee you when that box is filled with flowers or vegetables or whatever my little heart desires to grow in there, I will not focus on the memory of the thorns or the strange bite marks or the fear of re-discovering the enormous, brown spider that made its presence known to me. Nope, my thoughts in those days will be of accomplishment, of "it was worth it," and "what spider?" I will be so consumed with the greater purpose of having something come from that soil than of what hurt me while working through it.

Which brings me to tonight and my opening quote. There is a man in the middle. He stood in the center and made a world around him; made all things through his presence. He created from a pure heart. He worked in love. And He still works in love, for our benefit. He still creates, for our beauty. He toils alongside. He tarries until it is finished. He will be here forever.
Do not forgot, dear soul, that He is the most important. No other can stand in that center. No other can complete His work.
One day you will find someone who shares your heartbeat.
For now, commit yourself to Him who formed you in darkness, who made your being from the dust, who called you by name, who clothes you in his perfection, who extracts purpose from all of our broken hearts.


Maybe we all should garden more. :)




if you have endured great despair...
getting a transfusion from the fire
picking the scabs off your heart
then wringing it out like a sock...

You powdered your sorrow
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.

-Anne Sexton-