Because Souls Are Like Gardens
'Because Souls Are Like Gardens' is a collection of fictional and non-fictional musings—anywhere from life's quirky moments and general happenings, to thoughts and experiences around Jesus, the Kingdom, and truth. Much like a garden, what is planted here today, will be different to what is planted here tomorrow. Happy Pickin's!
Ghosts and shadows plague tormented minds: Haunted phrases run on loop until insanity nears; They trickle from ceilings, crawl through windows and slink through open doors. Mental assaults from yesterday unravel and dismember peace: “You will never find love because you will never be worthy of it.” “You have no ability—you lack everything required to function.” “Nothing is all you are, and nothing is all you will have….”
How often do we try to fill our need for true human interaction with shallow social media ‘knowledge’ about someone instead of taking the time to create a genuine in-person connection with them?
Being a child of our Heavenly Father is simple: we get to place our hand in His and copy what He does.
The beauty of regeneration and innocence as they meet and appreciate the joy of hope.
Since I was little, I have heard the voice of Jesus saying, “all eyes on Me!” This cry is especially relevant in the times we are now living in… All eyes on Jesus!
How might the first Christmas have played out in Heaven? What could have transpired?
Smoke clouds billow, choke, and roll; Bleak is the day and Dark is the night, And yet we stand in fight, flight, fright or freeze, Instead of voicing truth and hope— We speak aloud discordant tones Of beliefs and choices, Emotions and retaliations, And of theologies and doctrines Personalised through carefully crafted filters of ‘good versus evil’ and ‘evil versus good.’
Cath? Why can’t you be more logical, More rational, More sequential And more commonsensical In your thinking?
Softly, gently, I unfurl my wings And rise on the life of Your breath Into timeless places With no beginning and no end, And I am found in You, Perfect One. You’re my place of constant rest, Where I am absent from the stuff, spit and clay Of my own mess....
These days, This era, This time in history, Has opened up a space for a clarion call, An invitation, That was never actually laid to rest in the first place...
