As I walk through the garden, I can’t help but think of you.
Were you thinking of me too?
Did the wind brush against your cheek like it did mine before dancing with the fallen leaves?
Were the trees bending towards you in exaltation? Did you see them like I see mine?
As I navigate the rocky path before me, I wonder if your path was difficult too. Did it wind side to side? Did you climb up steep portions? Did you have to cautiously watch your step going down?
I feel the Spirit move in my soul as I sink into the beauty of such a wondrous creation.
Did you think about it—creation—when you walked through your garden? Or did your grief overwhelm you? Did the Spirit move with you as it does me?
As I step into a clearing, captivated by the blueness of the sky above, I wonder where you stopped to pray. Were you covered by the vastness of space, your eyes lifted to the heavens, or did you find a small, hidden secret place where you knelt in the dark?
I brush away the bead sweat that tickles my chin, and I hold a breath remembering your sweat, your blood, your anguish that fell to the ground.
I think of you…in your humanness…in your Godliness. In prayer, in submission, in obedience…in love.
On your last night…
Here. In the garden.
