Of Gardens

I’ve always enjoyed gardens:

A place where creation is loved,

And sometimes I’ve envied gardens:

A place where life grows up above.


I had convinced my worried heart

That it was no place for that.

Nothing would want to grow here;

No gardener would ever plant.


But You did not hesitate,

When I first showed signs of surrender.

You came with your best plow and hoe

To make my rocky soil tender.


And I was so scared

That it was going to hurt,

But I let You have Your way

To till my broken earth.


And finally You finished,

And I was afraid that You left

Like everyone else I gave a place.

I couldn’t take another theft.


But as I despaired in sorrow

You came once again,

And I saw a glow in Your eyes.

You said, “Let the planting begin.”


You planted seeds in orderly lines

And watered them with care.

And everyday You came back,

Though this garden was yet bare.


Then the sprouts came,

And, while it was a pitiful sight,

You sang so loud about these little things

That no one could mistake Your delight.


Some days it felt like nothing would grow–

I would be displeasing to Your heart,

But then I found myself blooming

And discovered how far I had come from the start.


Then I realized that I was a garden:

Full of hope and full of life,

And I could barely remember before–

The years of death and strife.


So I’ll praise the One who plants the gardens,

Who did not once neglect my heart.

You see, all I had to do was give Him land

And let Him slowly take it apart.


So that later He could grow His vision,

In my broken and battered soil,

And how wonderful it is that He is willing–

He regards this work as no toil.


How mysterious that it takes brokenness

To let this crazy hope in,

And that He would take a dead place

To grow a beautiful garden.


Copyright © 2017 Maegan Elizabeth Pinyan


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