Hallelujahs in the Garden Bed and Other Poems
by Deborah Rutherford
HALLELUJAHS IN THE GARDEN BEDS
1.
A dense fog pranced
through the street lanes
like he owned the place.
The only thing missing was
a top hat and coat.
Depression called my name,
like we were old friends.
My garden had run wild,
and the weeds wanted a piece
of this real estate, too.
Night loomed….
a train chatted in the distance…
nocturnal panic.
A wake of blackness cloaked
the Heavens as droplets
wept from the skies
and wiped away the night
for a bit of Hope
in the morning glow;
cornflower blue skies
and scarlet marigolds
at last.
In my despair:
crumpled, unstable feet,
my sanity intruded—
and in unbearable grief,
a sliver of beauty
dripped into the crack.
A candle flickered
an invitation of Love.
2.
The sun was veiled at high noon.
She couldn't look or bear;
she wept agony and sorrow,
as tears watered
the daffodils and hyacinths.
The curse busted
as the sun burst.
The entombed was empty,
and the sky was full of wonder.
3.
Northern lights bewildered
me that night
where all the world
watched something
God had made
in the most unexpected places.
Ribbons of violet and magenta
lifted up my chin into the midnight blue.
With childlike wonder,
I found my Lord’s eyes
and gaze of love
dancing across the Heavens.
When was the last time I looked up?
4.
I watched from behind the door
until I could no longer stand it.
My feet grazed the grass
with stretched-out arms
in the melody of April showers
that bloomed Hallelujahs in the garden beds—
And there I sang
and praised His name.
At last, vanquishing my depression!
At last, shining Light where it was dark
for so long!
5.
April rain
brought my garden back to life.
His holy reign
brought my darkness back into Light.
So, we dressed in our Sunday best that week:
Good Friday was hard,
and Saturday was silent.
But Sunday?
Ah, now,
isn't that what we live for?
HOLY SOIL
“For the Lord will comfort Zion, He will comfort all her waste places; He will make her
wilderness like Eden, And her desert like the garden of the Lord; Joy and gladness will be found in it, thanksgiving and the voice of melody.”
–Isaiah 51:3 NKJV
My bare toes squirm
in the damp, warmed soil,
and I am entranced
by a rose-blushed lily.
Gardenias drift by,
and I dash
to taste a honeysuckle
under the soft glow
of a springtime day
with innocent blue skies.
Oh, Heaven, it’s joy I feel!
I wander in my garden,
the one outside of Eden,
and before Heaven,
where tears spill into the soil,
and these wounds of mine—
the ones of loss, betrayal,
regret, and shame—
become buried seeds
in Your holy soil
to bloom one day
as flowers do.
What was meant to bury me
You used to bloom me:
a rare flower belonging to a King
where gardens transpose
man's tangles and thistles.
IN HIS GARDEN
“You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness.” –Psalm 30:11 NKJV
In the lush garden,
I ate from a tree;
the shiny things
seemed pleasant to me;
the hissss louder than the hymn.
I found myself naked,
ashamed and hid
behind the fig leaves.
My Creator swathed me
in coats of skin
and wept to banish me—
the garden gates guarded
by fiery cherubs.
I entered the fallen world
outside of Eden
to toil the earth
and have seeds in my belly, too.
Yet, I was a bruised reed
held gently in His hands;
He would redeem me
with bruises, the same.
The garden was never too far
as my Creator prayed—
blood beading on His brow—
to take away the cup.
But He drank it anyway
one late eve in Gethsemane.
He perished on the Cross,
and droplets of lilies from the valley
flowed from His mother's eyes
as she scented His body
and said goodbye.
He lay in the garden's sepulcher,
linen clothing on stone,
in what seemed like an eternity.
But three days later,
the woman came early
to find He had arisen—
To make pools in my wilderness
and straighten my crooked paths.
To sweep me up into Heaven,
a new creation in Him—
like Him—
and set my feet to dancing,
His eternal daughter,
a new celestial vessel
made of Heaven dust
from His Holy Ground.
DEBORAH RUTHERFORD
Deborah Rutherford, a writer and poet, explores themes of faith, nature, healing, and grace. She is the founder of the Behold-Her Beauty Blog & Podcast. These poems will be in her upcoming poetry collection, Prodigal Daughter: Poems of Light for Lost Ones, published by The Way Back Books. Her published works are in the book Unexpected Blessings: 40 Days of Discovering God’s Best as a contributor and the following publications: The Way Back to Ourselves Literary Journal, Vessels of Light Journal, Calla Press Literary Journal, The Truly Co. Magazine, Austur Magazine, Aletheia Today Magazine, and Prosetrics Literary Magazine.
At heart, Deborah is an encourager who loves sharing her many stories, singing old hymns, and taking long walks in the woods, where she finds inspiration and peace.
You can find her at www.deborahrutherford.com, https://deborahrutherford.substack.com and Instagram @deborahrutherfordwrites.