Listen to the recital:
...being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.
The garden isn’t finished
The garden isn’t finished.
There are prayers still buried
beneath winter’s frost,
and a Mercy I’ve received
that hasn’t yet learned how to bloom.
I left the gate open
and welcomed Him in—
mud on His knees,
He nurtures the seeds
He planted.
Some roots are stubborn.
Some petals arrive late.
Still, He waits beside the soil,
believing in what I’ve forgotten.
Even silence is a kind of bloom
when held in His hands.
Time is not His enemy.
He lets the slow things grow,
and soon, my cup shall overflow.
Yes, ever He tends
to my heart’s yet-unfinished garden.
Before final restoration—
beautiful healing needs
a second spring.
© QuackaDice Muse
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