Gardens of Christ

God is cultivating
A love and reckless abandon
In our hearts, he is making room
For His son to find good and perfect soil

And to this end
God sends hardened tools
Of steel and wood, and
Life hurts. We’ve all felt
The blade tear into our hearts,
Knifing into harsh earth
Screech of metal against soil and stone
Relentless and savage.
Again and again and again.

It is necessary.
It never seems necessary
To the victim of such
Violence.

Until the green shoots
Begin to rear their tender heads,
The garden appears
In vivid scarlet petal
And shimmering dew drop
And the King emerges
In full bloom.

It is necessary.
God is not savage
And does nothing
Unintentional.

Every stroke is a clearing out.
A making ready.

The loving surgeon
Undoes us all

That we may be transformed
From cracked earth
To heart-breaking, beautiful
Garden’s of Christ.

Our Father does not waste strokes.
_______________________


Author's Note: 
This poem was inspired by the writings of Frank Laubach. 
You can view some of his writings here: 
http://www.durrance.com/laubach.htm