Heaven? I wonder to myself. No; I don't know how, but I know it's not heaven. It's here. It's now.
I see myself, dressed comfortably in jean shorts and a T-shirt, walking along a path. I'm laughing -- giggling, even. My heart leaps inside of me in a way I can't explain. Indescribable joy, bubbling up into laughter I can't hold back. Not the hysterical kind, not the polite kind, not the funny kind; but the kind that comes from a deeply happy heart.
I'm not alone; Love is here with me. He takes my hand, and my smile grows even larger, if that is possible. He shows me the intricate details of the flowers we walk alongside. He points out a squirrel who startles and runs as we approach, his tiny little feet bringing yet another smile to my face.
The slightest crisp breeze brings a fresh feeling to the already fresh spring day. Everything is perfect. "This day is for you," He tells me, and somehow I know that this is not a "day" in the way we think of a day; it is a season, a season of the heart. My spirit is a flower-filled, verdant garden, but the joy I feel is from the presence of my Father in that garden. He is the one who makes it grow; He is the one who turns it green; and He is the one who brings laughter bubbling out of my mouth.
He smiles at me, a smile His face can barely contain. "This is how I love you."
The vision disappears, another taking its place.
There is no laughter here. It's quiet; it's bare. The sky is flat, the air hot and dead. Not a breath stirs. There is no rustling of leaves, no scurrying of squirrels. All I can see for miles is sand. Hot, gritty, and barren.
My skin is burning as the sun beats down on it mercilessly. I know I would be crying, but the desert has dried out my tears; I need every last drop of hydration just to stay alive.
But I'm not alone. He's here. I see Him waiting, and I know I've rebuffed Him time after time. He could shelter me if I asked Him, but I've insisted on remaining on my own. There's something so human about the desert; standing on my own brings me an ache I'm not sure what I would do without.
But remembering the times we've shared in the garden, I make the choice. I let Him come, and become lost in His shadow. In His arms, a cool breeze begins to rush over me. He's close, closer than I've ever let Him be before; I need Him close. I need healing. His presence is water to my dry heart.
It is not the same as the garden; but we are so close, I cannot wish to be anywhere but here. He brought me here for a reason: If we stayed always in the garden, I would never have realized how near He could be, how near He wants to be.
And even as the sun beats down around us, He whispers tenderly that He holds all my tears in a bottle, even the tears that have never left my eyes. His strong, deeply emotional voice tells me that He will make the Valley of Trouble a door of hope.
He whispers once again: "This is how I love you."
And in the middle of the desert...joyful laughter begins to bubble up.
The garden will be all the more intimate because of the desert; the desert is bearable because I remember the garden, and allow Him to come and speak words I would otherwise find superfluous.
Both are so necessary.
Both are His love.
