Secret Gardens
Why do I feel like I want to walk in a garden
Draw in the elusive fragrance of dew soaked earth
Haunting perfumes of fresh open buds
Wisping and weaving intangible rainbows
Blown in on teasing zephyrs
Caressing and lifiting the locks for a careless moment
Light as a butterfly
Then drifting on to invigorate another weary heart.
Today my heart rebels against being in a concrete jungle. True, as I look out of my windows I see more greenery and flowers than most urbanites are privileged to see. True, in my life I have been privileged than many people to visit beautiful gardens. I am trying hard to be satisfied. I am trying hard to be grateful. I am trying hard to be contented.
Whispers of past gardens
Steal out of dusty memory boxes
Stored sunshine and smiles
Teasingly tweak the toes of discontent
And ruffle longings awake.
Gardens…
Eden – perfect, complete, perfect shalom
Flaming swords blocking the path
Lonely longing.
Nebuchadnezzar’s famed hanging gardens
Pride, pleasure-seeking, luxury
Cloaking bitter oppression and tyranny.
Gethsemane – sleeping friends,
Gnarled olive trees bear mute witness
Drops of blood, a gut-wrenching act of worship
Father, Your will…
The garden of tombs, a stone rolled away
An empty tomb, a weeping woman
A Saviour who pauses and turns
To comfort, for in the heart of a worshipper
He found a garden
To delight and refresh His heart.
One thing I love about Munich is its hidden gardens. When one walks down the streets, it often seems one is walking past continuous blocks of buildings, without even a gap to separate them. Quite dull, regular and boring. Till the summer showers arrive. Then suddenly the air is full of elusive perfumes of flowers and herbs. In the beginning I was really puzzled how that could be since there was not a single flower in sight. Then I discovered that those sternly beautiful facades hid courtyards which housed lawns and gardens. Private. Hidden. For the secret pleasure and delight of the residents. Others are shut out. Till the rain and breezes reveal the hidden gardens beguiling and delighting the passerby.
Sanctified. Set apart. Consecrated. For the Master alone. Yet perfume spills forth to bless others.
My bride, my very own, you are a garden, a fountain closed off to all others.
Let the north wind blow, the south wind too!
Let them spread the aroma of my garden, so the one I love may enter and taste its delicious fruits.
Song of Solomon 4:12, 16
speak peace always 
KW
Lovely!
speakpeacealways
Thank you!