In the garden

(Written last night on a Hello Kitty notepad)

I’m sitting in the garden of an elaborate Methodist church in downtown Ft. Worth. The scene is picturesque — berry trees aglow in twinkly lights sparkle under the deep blue sky, stained glass and statues of Jesus encompass me. I’ve chosen a seat on the cracked granite bench next to a statue of Jesus. The moment is eery — the wind blows and sends leaves flying around me.

Every few moments, I hear a noise that causes me to look up from my writing, wondering if there is an animal in the garbage bag a few feet away, or a homeless man lurking behind a pillar. But every time terror seizes me, like a little kid clinging to her father’s coat tails, I stare up into the face of the statue of Christ. In this 3 foot tall granite statue, His arms are stretched out in a pose as if to say, “Come to me, you who are burdened, and I will give you rest.” He looks like He isn’t worried about a thing. And He’s got about 8.5 billion people to keep track of.

I worry about so many things, God. I worry about the temporary — if there’s someone lurking in the shadows of this church garden late at night. I worry about tomorrow — if I’ll have my “game face” on for tomorrow’s oil and gas conference. And I worry about the eternal — what if I get to heaven and realize I haven’t lived for Your glory?  What if I realize that I spent too much time worrying about pleasing oil executives and church people and roommates and boyfriends, and not enough time just sitting at your feet?

How I need moments like these. How I need to place my concerns in your outstretched hands. How I need to exchange my silly concerns with a burden for eternity.

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One response to “In the garden

  1. Wow girl! I really liked this…you should expand it so I can publish it. =)

    Good talking with you last night and catching up a bit. Love you!

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