This morning I walked with God in a beautiful garden. 
But Eden it was not.
While speculator by human standards and usually quite vibrant, 
today this garden looked a bit tired, a bit worn down.

A few stubborn weeds could be seen among the carefully manicured beds.
Desperate plants seemed to beg for mercy from the hot Texas sun.
Blooms once full and majestic were drooping and dying.
More specimens than not seemed to be at the end of their blooming cycle.

With life comes death.

The garden mirrors my life.

Some days, I am thriving and bearing fruit.
Some days, I droop under the baking heat.
Other days, I experience death, mourning and loss.

I am in a constant battle to keep the weeds at bay, 
to find shade, to bring water to my thirsty soul, 
and to just survive.

Tending my life is hard work which requires constant attention.

This morning was a drinking time, 
a time to walk and talk to my Heavenly Father and 
hear him invite me along hidden paths to enjoy his creation, 
to drink in his presence. 

This I need to not just survive, but to thrive.

But blessed is the man who trusts me, God, the woman who sticks with God. They’re like trees replanted in Eden, putting down roots near the rivers—Never a worry through the hottest of summers, never dropping a leaf, serene and calm through droughts, bearing fresh fruit every season.

Jeremiah 17:8–9 (The Message)