Dreams

I love the rose garden. It's where I go to wander.

Especially when I want to get lost in longing, which is more often than you'd suppose.

There is a freshness in the garden, a coolness to the dew and yes, a beauty to the roses. But there's this pervasive feeling today...has my endless pacing trampled the roses?

My clenched fists crushed them?

I'm lost in the maze of my mind, imagining and dreaming and grasping, but here I am.

I enter Your courts, still holding onto my dreams for dear life...

"My mind, Lord, is composed of these dreams. What would I have without these hallways, door after door revealing whatever I please? You understand, don't you, Lord, I can't just give them to you like that. There's inventory that needs to be taken and cleaning that must take place. And after that, doors to be locked...which you know is a tricky business, and after that there will just be hallways and where will that leave me? So you see, I can't unclench my fists for you. They're holding something far too dear." And then, it was the strangest thing, word after word started tumbling out of my mouth and they took the form of room after room like I was showing him around. And the strangest thing was, that I didn't want to stop. And when I finally did stop, he reached out and touched my hands. It was like the touch of a lover, breath-taking and heart-stopping and there was that thrill through the veins like my very soul would bubble over from happiness. And he said, "Open your hands, dear one." And when I looked down, my hands were empty. The roses were gone and my mind was somehow one vast stretch of empty. How could they just slip through my fingers like that? But then I looked up and His were full. I don't know how they got there, maybe it was his touch, or maybe I had let them go when I was letting go of all those words. But the maybe that I like to dwell on most, is maybe dreams have a sort of home-instinct in them. Maybe they know to return to the one who promises them. And what have I learned since then? My dreams, room after room of them, are far safer in his hands than they ever were in mine.