Rest

The brown curled leaves gnarl up, twisting on the wooden fence.  The sprinkler’s water hasn’t reached this side of the yard, this little corner in a postage-stamp size space in the back of the  house, and the vulnerable little vine is dying.

I have prayed, Father, for You to be my gardener, the One who waters and cares for me.  And I look out the back window and see the lush green honeysuckle stretching up towards the sky, and the gnarled, leafless, nameless branches next to it.  These two plants share a fence, a piece of dirt, a place in the same garden.  And one thrives and one, in its patch of life a foot over, is neglected and dies.

It was the plant that bloomed with white flowers, its green leaves once kissing the wooden slats with beauty.  And I wonder if I trust to be cared for by my Father, who longs to water me, nurture me, give me everything I need.  I want this tired plant who dies from lack of care to revive, to rest in the care of the Gardener.

But to rest in His word means to know His word.  To rest in Him, means to know Him.  To rest in His truth means to know His truth. Do I know these things?  Resting means having a heart willing to follow Him, doesn’t it?  Trusting and believing I am being cared for doesn’t mean an act of passivity, does it?  Don’t I have to let Him help me, let Him care for me?  Let His word penetrate my heart and bring nourishment?

I don’t want to be in the dry soil, where the vine withers, doesn’t allow itself to be watered, and misses life.