Gardener

Roots

Tethered in the soil of my heart-

So deeply woven that I am paralyzed.

How did they get here?

How did this start?

My father's compromise.

He left.

He left and didn't say goodbye.

I was eight- and when the vows exchanged and the rice was thrown-

poof-

he was gone.

There were no "I love you"s or "I miss you"s

Just the formation of an apathetic girl with "daddy issues."

No one wanted to date me

No 'yes' boxes checked- not even a maybe.

No one wanted a depressed teenage girl complaining about her mediocre life

with underage drinking problems, tattoos, and an endless supply of hair dye.

Addressing the roots-

they becaume thicker.

they grew deeper.

they spread like an unquenchable fire-

and I was attacking with a water gun.

HE knew.

He knew my dad would leave

and I wouldn't conceive

the notion that I was a great American stereotype.

He watched me tug at the deep roots.

He watched me strain.

He saw me wrap my feeble fingers around those roots,

and give it all I had-

and to no avail-

fail.

Lying on the ground, weeping,

defeated,

covered in my own sweat and blood.

Weak.

Bleak.

So very alone.

He said "My child, give me your hand

and stand.

Recognize THIS: This is not a problem you can solve, 

without Me here to help resolve."

I couldn't let me heart harden-

He saw it as HIS GARDEN.

He brought me up to His chest and whispered, 

"Rest."

I handed over the filthy, torn gloves of my soul,

and let Him go.

He dug.

He pulled.

He ripped the roots out by their throat and

BEHOLD!
My heart was set free.

He told me to remember His skill.

To be still.

To let Him till

the nasty parts.

He told me to allow HIM to be the Gardener of my heart.