17 September 2011

UNDER THE WATERFALL: Patrick ButlerI could feel the pleasure and presence of God while I was watering my palm tree Friday afternoon. It was pretty amazing because I wasn’t doing anything significant, just watering my plants that I love and I’m happy to do such a menial task. It’s so simple, yet pleasurable. I felt God right there with me, smiling at me, his son, watering the garden he made possible, just being happy that one of his creation was enjoying it.

I thought, “Is this what it was like when Adam was walking around the garden? He had no world problems to solve, no one to “call back” to God, no enemies to fight. Nothing. Just watering the garden. “This is the way it was in the beginning,” I thought. “God having pleasure in simple things.”

“This is a pretty nice creation,” I thought, while walking around in the garden with my watering jugs.

“Yes, I know, I designed it,” God said in that quiet still “voice” that comes now and then. I like it when that happens and usually take advantage of moment so I might learn something.

I paused my thoughts while pouring water onto the palm tree which is about up to my shoulders now. During last winter when it snowed, I’d thought the palm tree had died, but it surprisingly sprouted up in the spring. I love to encourage things that looked like they’d died and have another shot at life, so I transplanted the palm tree and began to baby it some, trying to help it grow.

Just like God does with us.

“So, aren’t you going to ask me how I designed it?” asked God. “It’s a pretty good story.”

I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t asked yet.

“You know, I was just thinking that,” I said a bit sheepishly, staring at the root ball of the palm tree. “But I was thinking it was a bit too technical for me right now. You know, root systems and all that. I’m pretty tired right now.

“Well, since you asked,” God said, “I began by drawing on what I know.”

“What you know?” I wondered to myself, “God knows everything.”

“I thought about it a long time,” God continued. “A loooonnnnngggg time.”

I immediately began to think about geology. That's a long time to me. So God took longer than that?

“Was this,” I said, looking around, “a new design?” I asked God.

“Totally,” God said. “Brand, spanking new. Nothing like it before or since.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “You’re eternal and this is new? How can that be?”

“I make all things new,” God said. “Your Scriptures say that, right?”

“Well, yeah,” I said, “But …”

“But what?” God said. “You didn’t believe it?”

“Well, yeah, I believed it,” I said laughing, seeing that God had caught me in a conclusion that didn’t make sense. “I believed you made all things new, but root systems?”

“And arteries, brain cells, bones and more,” he said.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” I asked. “Are you really saying that you never thought of human beings before? That in time there has never been a human being anywhere in space, time or the whatever-it-is, continuum? That we are total originals even though you’ve been there forever?”

There was silence from God. It was serious, as if Dad were making a point to his son he wanted him to remember. I could tell there was a lot more to this than I would be able to grasp — it's too big. But I waited for the lesson.

“Do you understand what this means?” God said “Do you understand the scope and significance of who and what you are? Can you finally get a grip on why I spend so much time trying to save, restore, bless and keep you? Do you finally realize why you are precious to me, and why I am so committed to you? There is none like you. Not one. No one has your traits, talents and touch you bring to the garden. Look at your garden.”

I surveyed my garden. I had gardenias, Carolina jasmines, Chinese fringe flower, croutons, turks caps, purple wandering jews, gerbera daises, mums, rock roses, rubber plants, ixora Maui red, Russian heather, bougainvillaea, oleander, star jasmine, cone flowers along with various succulents, cactus plants, aloe vera plants, elephant ears and bunches of plants I’ve lost the name for and don’t remember what they are, but I love them anyway. I looked with some sorrow at the places plants had died in the summer heat this year. I had loved them too — the wood fern, the two hydrangea — but I had the others.

“See how you want them to live, and how you didn’t like it that the others had died,” God said.

Even I could see where God was going with this one, I thought.

God smiled. “I knew you’d get it,” he said. “You’re pretty smart, after all.”

That seemed paternal, but God is a parent after all. He wants his kids to know he’s proud of them, and they can do it.

“OK, I said.” “We’re all plants in your garden. You want us all to grow. You’ll labor over us with tender love, watering, pruning, shaping and transplanting so we’ll grow, be healthy, and, um, bear fruit.

God smiled. “You’re just batting a thousand today,” he said. “Well done.”

“But I don’t get this 'new design,' thing, I said to Dad. How can we be a new design? You already know everything.”

“This is the part where you don’t know the Scriptures or the power of Me,” said God. “I make all things new. It’s not just that I take old things and put a new coat of paint on it, or repair a broken fender and pound out the dents life puts in things. I make things new. All things. All the time. Every morning. Down to the cells, molecules, atoms and the things you still can't see. I don't just repair things.”

“I get it,” I said, hoping I did. “You are a God of living, continuing creation,” and began looking around at the green trees, the blue sky and the water in the bucket in my hands. “It's pretty amazing.”

“Yep. And you can read all about it in my book,” God finished up. “It’s a pretty good story.”

 

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