GARDEN ROSES WITH MY BELOVED

I am alone, yet not alone!
I hear Your voice, clearer and stronger, pure balm for my soul.
I do not have to explain.
It is enough that I feel You.
And You are real.
And You are mine!
This is my story!
This is my song!
With words or silent…this is my life and my song!

Garden Roses

“I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me
And He tells me I am His own
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling”

(By Austin Miles)

One comment on “GARDEN ROSES WITH MY BELOVED

  1. Linda Bendele says:

    Lia, going through old files…found this…at the time written, my sister had attempted suicide, again. My daughter told me she feels that she is gay and my son was still facing possible prison.Through it all, “He walks with me.”

    In the stillness, a question comes. March 19, 2007

    If your heart is a garden How does that garden appear to God?

    Father, show me.

    I knew it was not the glorious garden

    Remembered from some time ago.

    Riots of color,

    A fountain spilling joy

    A patch of peace

    Dappled light moving as if breathing

    We moved on.

    Revisiting a desert place Barren and hard, Crying for moisture.

    Withered things that might have grown there

    Have lost all hope.

    Things that do grow there are covered

    With thorns of self-protection.

    A familiar place,

    The Master’s hand is seen

    In providing just enough shade to survive.

    Just enough water

    But this is not a place to linger

    Again we moved on

    Neither is my heart the formal garden

    Regal, symmetrical, manicured, and calculated

    It is not a rigid, controlled space.

    A monument to legalism.

    Littered with signs to stay on the path

    Containing no surprises

    No errant bloom dares to show itself here.

    Once more, recognized,

    His work is evident

    In the broken gates once guarding

    The place of my heart

    and we moved on

    Would we finally stop in the garden of weeds?

    Overgrown, where selfish impulses florish

    Alongside the brothers of deceit and denial of sin.

    Self-righteousness and unforgiveness

    Thrives in the shadows. Yet again, I am grateful for the constant weeding

    My Gardener has provided,

    As we move from this dark place

    That once held my heart.

    The last garden, becomes eminent, Our steps slow.

    My Father draws closer,

    ready to comfort

    To view this, finally,

    the condition of my heart.

    Once, a glorious garden

    filled with joy,

    Now battered and ravaged by storms

    Too numerous to count

    Coming too close together

    To allow full recovery.

    Havoc gained entry here

    Great limbs of pain are scattered

    Across the patch of green

    Debris everywhere

    Choking the fountain

    A mere trickle struggles Once there were glorious colors, now bruised and broken stalks hold the battered blooms.

    In the sky overhead, ominous clouds,

    The storms are not over.

    But, now, standing in the arms of the Master Gardener

    Peace has come again to the garden

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