Tonight in the Gardens

The thing I love the most about the prayer gardens is their timeless quality. When I was an undergrad, I would venture out many an evening to my favorite spot, on a step near a fountain, with a good view of some particuarly lovely trees. In a world of mass-communal living, it was "my" place. I didn't go every night, but I went often during the seasons when weather would allow it. It has always seemed as though the heavens touched the earth in that place, as though the spirit of God was always hovering over those waters, and if I sat there long enough, wind rustling the trees, water gently trickling, I would meet Him. In a sense, I feel as though I grew up sitting by that fountain.

Tonight I was on campus doing some homework, and when the library closed, I felt the gardens beckoning me. Across campus I ventured, to my favorite spot, hoping against all hopes that it would be empty. And indeed, I was not disappointed.

I sat down, and suddenly I was that shy 17-year-old girl again, far away from home, longing only for her Father's embrace.

So much of my life has passed since the day I first discovered that spot. I am not the person I was then; I am not the person I was four years later (most thankfully). I am me, now, in the present, and my heart for a moment has lost its hardness. It is in these moments of openness that He calls me there, to sit and reflect, to pray. I see the trees, with fresh new life springing from the branches. There is no water running through the fountains--yet--and the gardens have not been planted for the new spring. They are not the vision of loveliness that they will be soon. But in that place, I am reminded even by the simple rustle of the wind in the treetops that God is always here, always waiting for me to simply come, lay down my burdens, and rest in His presence.