“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also” (John 14:1-3).
I'm exhausted. My feet are sore and there's not a bone or muscle in my entire body which does not ache. But it is a good tiredness. And it is a good weariness and a body fulfilled by the goodness of nature and a labor of love—the readiness of the garden, the cleaning and pruning and the collecting of dead leaves; the painting of weathered furniture and things, the sowing of seeds; planting and replanting of the spring garden.
And thus, I am living out here again; mainly during the warmest hours of the day, which start at midday and end around four in the afternoon. Mornings and evenings are still mostly cold, but the nippiness hanging from trees and still bare branches foretells a distinctive story... a story of sunny days and delicious warmth, and balmy evenings and starry nights.
I'm always thinking of another garden while in my garden. A garden faraway from my garden. A future garden outside this earth. Jesus said: "I go to prepare a place for you." In my Father's house are many dwelling places... My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.
And thus, I choose a garden for my future dwelling place. On warm afternoons, where the sun hits full and warms the boundary of the florid paths, the smallest single wing turquoise birds will congregate in flittering jamborees, sip their nectar with straw shape tongues and start the winds whirling with their placid quivering... I catch them fluttering and flapping in the sunshine, and stand there with them; arms out wide; face lifted to the light while waiting with sheer anticipation for them to land on my finger tips. My little heart laughs with joy. Somewhere in the distance angels watch and laugh too.
Oh, the beauty of the promise! My heart of heaven loving hearts yearns for a thaw, hoping for a ribbon of warmth to sneak its way into this sin infected world and wrap every good thing in it with a turquoise bow of eternal life.
Perhaps... perhaps this garden-mansion of mine it's being built as I write; it is coming together beautifully; planted and designed to my own heart's desires by the Master Designer—the Living One. Or maybe... maybe it has already been fashioned and it is now ready to be inhabited; until finally it can be taken possession of... I don't doubt this. I know it with total certainty. It's a promise sealed by blood.
"The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins; he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing" (Isaiah 51:3).
Oh, we haven't been forsaken. My heart sings one pure, long note; it beats with heavenly glow.