Come to the Garden

by Jennifer Wilder Morgan

  My beautiful angel and I sat gazing at the stars in silence after I finished my story. Even after all these years, the memory of my meeting with Jesus is still so powerful that it can bring me to my knees.

  Margaret’s voice gently interrupted my thoughts. “Jenn, have you ever thought about why your dream took place in a desert?”

  I thought for a minute. “I guess I always assumed it was because I felt so lonely and left out, just as the desert seems a very lonely place,” I answered.

  Margaret nodded thoughtfully. Then she said quietly, “The desert is also a very barren place, Jenn. Barren and seemingly lifeless. But when the rains come and the desert is soaked in water, it blooms. Does this resonate with you?”

  I winced at her use of the word barren. “Oh, Margaret, that word still distresses me. But, yes, it does resonate with me. I struggled so much with being childless and hated the word barren every time I encountered it. My life seemed empty, without purpose.”

  “I know, dear child, and what you need to realize is that you were that desert. You felt barren and lifeless, until you met Jesus in your dream. Then a miracle happened. You met the Source of Light and Living Water. You soaked in his very essence, and you bloomed.”

  As I let her words sink in, a memory from my childhood sprang forth. I had actually seen the Arizona desert in bloom after a rainy spring. The cactus flowers were so beautiful. I knew Margaret was right.

  “I guess I did bloom, Margaret. Things really began to change for me. I regained the confidence I’d once had and began picking up the pieces of my life. I had a wonderfully supportive family, a good job, got back in touch with friends, and within a few years married my Guy. And I even got a chance to be a mom by helping to raise his son. I gave my all to a special little boy named Jason who is now a grown-up, independent young man.

  “To this very day, I am so very touched and humbled to know that in my darkness, my Lord reached out to me and found me. He knew how very much I needed him, even when I didn’t realize it. He really does not give up on you.”

  “No, he does not,” agreed Margaret. “I wish more people realized this. Many feel they are unworthy of God’s love, because they have made poor decisions or have made a mess of their lives. Some feel that God doesn’t even know they exist. But what people need to understand is that they are worthy because they are his children. God put each and every person here on this earth and cares deeply for them. All you have to do is seek him. He will find you and meet you where you are.

  “Your dream reminds me of a biblical parallel, Jenn. Do you remember the story in Exodus, of the Israelites on the last night of their captivity in Egypt? On that night, God sent the final and most deadly plague against the pharaoh and the Egyptians in order to demonstrate his power as the one true God and to convince the pharaoh to let the Israelites leave the country. The Israelites were instructed to place the blood of a lamb on the doorposts of their homes and to stay inside. That night was dark and terrifying, and they were very afraid. At midnight, the harbinger of death began to creep through the neighborhoods. And then something wonderful happened. It was as if the blood smeared on the doorposts suddenly blazed and pierced the darkness like the brightest of stars, repulsing the evil plague so that it passed over their homes, and the Israelites were spared the deaths of their firstborns. God was the deliverer of his people. And our beloved Jesus is the New Testament Lamb, who shed his blood for all people, saving them from the darkness forever.”

  “The story of the Exodus is one of my favorites,” I replied with a wistful smile. “And I do see the parallel. Jesus, the Lamb of God, certainly did deliver me when he found me in the terrifying night of my dream and led me home with his Light. The Light repelled the fear, the darkness, and the oppression I had been feeling for so long.”

  “Indeed it did, dear one,” Margaret agreed. “And as you slept, your Savior personally delivered this promise to you:

  “I am always here for you, my child. No darkness is too dark, no circumstance is too dire for me to walk into with my Light and free you.”

  My heart swelled as I listened to these words, remembering the intensity of Jesus’ presence in my dream. There was no doubt in my mind . . . no one is beyond the reach of the saving grace of our precious Savior.

  “After I had this dream, I really made an effort to return fully to God, paying attention to what he said to me in my dreams. And as I did, I noticed a new gift was emerging. I began to hear him while I was awake. Not out loud, but what I call an inside voice. It is a voice that speaks inside me, clearly and concisely—only a few words at a time.”

  “I know that voice well, dear child,” said Margaret softly.

  We sat contentedly for a few moments, listening to the growing multitude of chirping voices provided by the frogs and crickets. Then my dear angel stood and stretched, and I knew our evening had drawn to a close.

  “This night has been special, Jenn. I have loved sitting here under the stars with you and hearing about your encounter with Jesus. The starry night sky is a wonderful reminder to humanity of the Light that pierces the darkness.

  “You need to get some rest now. Sleep sweetly tonight and I will see you in the morning. Tomorrow, let’s speak more about the Almighty’s voice. Good night, dear one.”

  “Good night, Margaret,” I replied, stifling a yawn.

  I leaned back in my chair and watched as she slowly faded into the shadows and disappeared. Then I turned my eyes once more to the heavens and whispered “Good night” to my Savior—my beautiful, shimmering Light.

  Whispered Blessings

  And the Lord called Samuel again the third time. And he arose and went to Eli and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the young man. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down, and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant hears.’ ” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.

  And the Lord came and stood, calling as at other times, “Samuel! Samuel!” And Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant hears.”

  1 SAMUEL 3:8–10

  The next morning dawned as only one in southeast Texas could—sunny, hot, and steamy. In anticipation of Margaret’s arrival, I carried two cups of coffee out onto the patio and set them on the garden table. I then turned my attention to the Frisbee insistently bumping into the back of my legs. Cody stood there, determined that we get a few throws in before Margaret arrived. I marvel at how he can communicate very effectively without words! After several long runs through the deep backyard, Cody happily jumped into the pool to cool off. I settled comfortably at the table and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the morning. Already, the cicadas were buzzing, calling to one another across the neighboring yards, a distinctive sign that we were deep into summer. This is when my husband and I love to sit and enjoy this lovely space together . . . as the day awakens. Its quiet beauty infuses us with a peace that doesn’t come from this world. I felt a twinge of melancholy tug at my heart. Guy had come home late last night, packed a suitcase, and headed out to catch a red-eye flight for a last-minute business trip. This trip would take him overseas, which meant that he would be gone at least a week. My heart was already growing homesick for him.

  “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it!”

  I jumped in my chair, eyes flying open. There was my beautiful angel, laughing and standing behind me. She looked radiant. Today her silver-blue gown had swirls of pink in it, matching the slight pink flush of her cheeks. The diamond-like material shimmered in the sun.

  “Good morning, Margaret.”

  “And a good morning to you, sweet girl,” she replied. “Our Father sends you his dearest love and is so pleased with our progress so far.”

  More goose bumps. To receive such a personal message from my Lord filled me with awe.

  Margaret gracefully swept into the chair next to me and settled herself in. She gave a little squeak of elation as she spied the co
ffee on the table and indulged in a long, slightly noisy, delicious sip. I tried hard to suppress a giggle. This angel and her coffee cracked me up!

  As Margaret finally set her cup back down on the table, she turned her twinkling blue eyes on me. I knew we were in for another fascinating conversation. “Last night we began to talk about a new way God was making himself known to you—through an internal voice. Since humans are exposed to so much noise in their daily lives, this can be a very difficult gift to discern. Can you tell me how you have been able to do so?”

  “It has been difficult to discern,” I agreed. “I believe a lot of people have this gift, yet they do not recognize it as God’s voice. It can come as an urge to call someone, to check on a friend, to pray for someone. You can sense danger nearby—all the little quiet nudges that many simply attribute to thought, intuition, or imagination. As I mentioned last night, when I hear God’s voice, it is an inside, internal voice. A whisper. I do not hear him speaking out loud like you and I are doing right now. And he uses very few words. The way I recognize the difference between his voice and my own thoughts is that his voice comes when I least expect it—when my mind is occupied by something else. It interrupts. It is clear, concise, and cuts to my very core, pushing aside all other thoughts. Also, his message will often repeat—most likely because the first time I unfortunately have either misidentified, questioned, or ignored it. In this case, he usually persists until I finally listen and, if necessary, obey.”

  “Well stated, Jenn,” said Margaret, “and if you don’t mind, I’d like to add something I think is important. A simple way to recognize God’s voice is to see it is a Divine prompt that will bring healing, comfort, or blessing to you or to someone else. And if this prompt requires obedience, that obedience will glorify God.”

  As I let this angelic wisdom sink in for a moment, I recalled an intriguing story about obedience. “It always inspires me, Margaret, to hear the stories of others who do recognize God’s quiet voice and are obedient to it. A friend once shared a story with me about how she was awakened in the middle of the night by a strong urging to pray for her son, who was many miles away in a big city. Worried, she tried to reach him by phone but was unsuccessful. So she did as the urging instructed. She prayed and prayed. The next morning she learned her son had been the victim of a mugging but, thankfully, he was all right. I’m sure my friend’s prayers had a lot to do with her son’s survival, and I know she has lifted many heartfelt praises to God for his intervention in her son’s life-threatening encounter. God most certainly was glorified in this story of prayerful obedience.”

  Margaret clasped her hands to her heart. “Yes, he was. That was a wonderful example. And now I want you to tell me one of your stories about hearing God’s voice. I believe you have several that are particularly meaningful,” she hinted with a knowing smile.

  “I do,” I said. “The first happened several years ago. I had my yearly mammogram and was called back for an ultrasound. During the ultrasound, the radiologist came into the room and asked me if I knew about a mass in my right breast. I replied that yes, I had had it for twenty years or so. It was a suspected fibroid tumor, and no one had ever seemed too concerned about it. He then suggested it should be biopsied. Grudgingly, I agreed, but my normally active imagination went into overdrive, and I was scared to death. I underwent the procedure and began the five-to seven-day wait for the results. I was a mess. I could not concentrate on anything. I eventually decided to try to go about my normal routine as much as possible to keep my mind occupied. One morning, while applying my makeup, two words suddenly interrupted and said quite clearly in my heart, ‘blessed assurance.’ I was surprised, to say the least, but it did give me a little bit of comfort. As the day progressed, every time I started to worry again, those same two words would interrupt. Several days later, I still did not have a pathology report, but I headed to Methodist Hospital in Houston where I volunteered as a lay minister. A lay minister is a non-clergy person trained by the chaplain or spiritual care department to visit with patients—to listen to them and to pray with them.

  “I was assigned to a medical floor and the transplant unit. My mentor chaplain was a wonderful woman named Michelle. I stopped in to see her before I went up to the transplant unit to begin my visits. She asked me how I was doing, and I broke down in tears and told her what was going on. When I told her that I kept hearing two words in my heart, she asked me what they were. When I told her ‘blessed assurance,’ her reaction was amazing! She looked at me stunned and said, ‘Jennifer, that is my favorite hymn!’

  “Hymn? I had no idea what she meant. She jumped up and pulled a hymnal from her bookshelf and turned to it. Sure enough, there was the hymn, ‘Blessed Assurance.’ We read the hymn together and then we prayed together. The words of the hymn were such comfort. What a healing moment that was. How wonderful that my Father in heaven would use the words from a hymn to speak to me when he knows music is so dear to my heart. I just knew things would be okay. And later in the day I learned that my biopsy results were benign.”

  Margaret sighed. “It is not surprising to me that he used the words of a hymn to speak words of comfort to you. He created your inmost being. He knit you together in your mother’s womb. He knows your heart and loves you so very much, precious one.”

  My heart swelled with love as I heard her words. “God spoke to me again through music several years later. Guy and I had moved away from our friends and beloved church home in League City and relocated to The Woodlands area north of Houston. It was a good move for us, but I missed my friends and church family terribly and did not know a single person up here. I began a search for a new church while Guy was traveling overseas. I visited several churches but did not find anything to fit me and my spiritual and worship needs. When Guy returned home, he suggested that we try The Woodlands United Methodist Church near our home. I had been there once for a week as a delegate to the Texas Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church several years before. This is a huge, eleven-thousand-member church with a large sanctuary.

  “I was intimidated by the size of this church and confided to my husband that I was afraid I would not be able to find my way among so many people. How would I ever get to know anyone in a church this size? So Guy suggested we start by attending a smaller, early service in the church’s lovely chapel.

  “Sunday morning arrived, and while I was busy getting dressed, a couple of words suddenly planted themselves into my heart and mind: ‘How beautiful.’ Why, thank you, Father! I thought playfully, thinking he had just paid me a compliment.”

  Another very unangel-like snicker bubbled from the chair next to me. I glanced over to see Margaret rolling her eyes.

  “I know, I know, just my vanity rearing its ugly head,” I said quickly, before she could. “I figured out pretty quickly that those words meant something else, because they kept repeating over the next half hour or so as we continued to get ready to go to church. When we arrived at the church, the service was about to start, so we quickly found seats. Not too far into the service, a musician began to play a flute solo. It was such a lovely melody, and I glanced down at my bulletin to see what the song was titled. Imagine my astonishment to see printed in the bulletin the words How Beautiful.

  “I leaned over and whispered to Guy, ‘You know those words I told you were running through my head this morning while I was getting ready? It is the name of this song . . . look! Isn’t that weird?’

  “Guy leaned over to me with a grin and whispered, ‘No, Jenn, you’re weird!’

  “My sweet husband is used to these revelations of mine, bless his heart.

  “And the morning just kept getting more amazing. The scripture reading from Mark chapter five, verses twenty-five to thirty-four, told the story of a long-suffering woman in a crowd of people surrounding Jesus who reached out in faith to touch Jesus’ cloak. Jesus felt the power leave him and asked, ‘Who touched me?’ When the woman acknowledged her action, Jesus told her, ‘Your fa
ith has made you well.’ That has always been one of my very favorite scriptures. Then, during his sermon, the pastor told a story about his grandmother who experienced visions, and he described an encounter she had with her son who had died. I remember him saying something to the effect that he didn’t know how we all felt about people having visions, but his grandmother believed what she experienced was real. It was as if he was speaking to me directly, and I felt like Jesus was sitting right next to me, saying, ‘See, Jennifer, this church is where you need to be. I have given you several signs today that you can be comfortable and find purpose here.’

  “Well, he didn’t have to whack me over the head with a two-by-four anymore. I got his message loud and clear and felt humbled and at peace that this would be my new church home and that my Lord had selected it for me. And I will tell you that being a member of this church has been an overwhelming blessing to me and has helped me to grow as a Christian. I joined the choir and met many wonderful new friends and have been able to get back to leading Bible study, which has been a passion of mine for many years.”