Perfect Mess

"But by the grace of God I am What I am, and His Grace to me was not in vain"
I Corinthians 15:10

God’s Garden Poem

In our Bible study, we’ve been meditating over Psalm 103, and the thought that there are times when we must instruct our soul (despite how we feel) to bless the LORD. We’ve been learning about what the word, bless, really means. It is an inferior bowing to or extending itself to one who is superior. In reference to God, as we bow in reverence to Him, He extends who He is to us, and so we are blessed as a result of bowing in reverence to Him.

There is a rest we experience when we finally realize that we can do nothing to deserve this entry into God’s presence, nor is there anything to do to stay in His Presence, save but to recognize that it’s only by His grace, extended to us through the finished work of Christ’s Cross that we are allowed entry.

Because we still struggle with sin, there are parts of our heart that hesitate to bow.

Yet, because of His love, He never stops knocking on the doors of our heart to ask for entry.

That’s what this poem is about.

Only His feet can crush those hardened places in us that resists His love.

Fear keeps us hid behind the carnal places in our heart, those places we’ve sought inadequate refuge, but love, His perfect love which casts out all fear, keeps knocking, knowing our hearts will never be satisfied and whole without His Presence.

It’s a miracle to think that our hearts, once a place where only dust and darkness dwelt, can at once become God’s garden, the place where we are blessed and restored.

 

“He who is bowed down shall speedily be released…” Isaiah 51:14

 

“And I have put My words in your mouth and covered you in the shadow of My Hand, establishing the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth and saying to Zion, “You are My people” ‘  Isaiah 51:16

 

Come tread the carnal places Lord

Etched upon my soul

Turn the tables over my King

Fill in every hole

 

Come tear down all the walls I’ve built

Leave no stone unturned

Till up all the fallow ground

‘Till Your Truth is all I yearn

 

Then plunge Your Holy Hands in me

Till every piece is torn apart

And all that there is left of me

Is the fertile soil of a new heart

 

Then tread over me once more My King

Crush me under Holy Feet

Till all that there ever was of me

Is Holy obsolete

 

Then come plant You’re garden here

In what is left of me

That precious fruit may nourish souls

And change eternity

 

And if a weed called “self” should sneak

In to this garden You adore

Till up the furrow ground again

Tread over me once more

 

Crush me under Holy feet

Till there’s no more me

Or until my feet tread Holy Soil

For all eternity

 

Rhonda de la Moriniere

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