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!
When friends repeatedly suggested I write about this and share it publicly, I physically nodded ‘yes’, but inwardly recoiled—“no”. And that’s how it stayed for over two months, until this morning…
The ‘accuser of the brethren’ likes to remind us of our pasts. That’s his job. Title. Deed. Who he is. The thing is, he speaks from a space of delusion and theatre. He tries to guilt us into becoming who we ‘were’, which is the exact opposite of what Jesus does.
Gossip. It’s sparked into flame by someone who knows a partial truth about a person or situation, by intrigue or offence, or by divisive intent; then it’s fuelled into fire by others who want to know about it but who have no business knowing it in the first place…
Neely rolled to her other side, still curled in a ball. Hugging her pillow and semi-unconscious, some part of her mind became aware of other people in the room. But how could there be? It was the middle of the night. Maybe she was just imagining it. And yet, there was light pressing through her eyelids. How was that possible?
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….”
As my friend entertained with all manner of songs and instruments in the background and people chattered away over dinner, I was seated at a long white table under a fruiting mango tree that had light bulbs strung in a row under its branches. The biergarten was buzzing…
I have chewed over this dream for some time now. My closest friends know about it (or parts of it) but I now feel to write it down and make it plain so that they who read it may run with it (if they wish).
Am feeling really strongly the power, the life, the hope —the aroma of the Spirit of God—that embraces hearts when encouragement floods a space…
We are IN Him and He is IN us. He is closer to us than our next breath. He is our dwelling place. Our hiding place. Psalm 90:1 says, “Lord, YOU HAVE BEEN OUR DWELLING PLACE — throughout all generations.”
The preaching of ‘revival’ seems to make a special reappearance in every generation, but what about ‘permanent inhabitation’?
