In the days following her boy’s home going… she’d wander through the garden of lovely memories, always mindful of weeds of thought that would creep in. She would pull them quickly, wanting nothing to overrun the beauty that was planted there and the love that God allowed her to have. Abba Daddy visited often, causing them to bloom more beautifully then a life without painful loss would ever understand. She’d come here when we was sad and lonely, to find solice and comfort and hope. Abba collected her tears, and watered every blossom. He tilled the soil beneath every precious memory, causing life giving hope to blossom. He watched her steps, both powerful and painful, sending angels to protect each one from wandering where harmful thoughts could come to her. Sometimes she had visitors to the garden, they looked upon the blossoms of memory together, and they’d share tears and joy.
Lovely are the memories sometimes… many are days that have passed since I have walked in the garden with my soul mate. But his love is very much alive there and here in my heart. It is not a substitute for the physical hand that I loved so much to hold as we strolled through the garden of our lives. Or the eyes shared tears with and I loved so to look into. But I am thankful for the garden God planted, the memories He saved there and nurtured so that I would have it all to look at and revel in today.