Well-Watered

“The LORD will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.” ~ Isaiah 58:11

Summer evening, and I stand garden hose in hand, splashing at thirsty patches on our browning, southern lawn. The steady stream, in summer-dusk, easing the day’s tension and tryings from my mother-heavy shoulders, from the sun-scorched places of busy life. “We were too much today,” I whisper low. Flowers tip open, full-wet in their sipping and swallow. Woman swallows too, and breathes… perhaps for the first time in her day.

The day always heated and each hour full. Hotter and fuller than should be in summertime moments intended to meander. But this is the pure pulse of our life – five children and five thousand things which accompany them. Even in summer, minutes move fast and forward. Often full throttle in our afternoon steam. Though we delight in the inefficient attitude of our August, we cannot completely escape from all schedule. Not with seven under one roof. There seems always someone in some kind of motion.

But when the din of supper hour settles, I head for grass and garden and open sky. I go to my watering chores with swing of skirt and toss of much-needed ponytail . It is pure pleasure.

I leave hot kitchen and dishes and shoes behind. Barefoot in grass, I pause, allowing spray and mist to wash knees down. Feet cool and wet. Finally. I sigh with the day’s quiet closing and listen for evening’s hushed coming. And it comes in this lavender-light quenching. God meets me in my garden. He meets me even in this toy-strewn stretch of backyard, with tire swing and trampoline and sandbox spilling.He guides me into this almost-twilight kind of cooling. This kind of hush, after a day full with motherhood.

My brittle soul replenished, my weary frame strengthened in the pulsing flow. Everything drinking. Across the yard, I spy children; somehow softer and more muted now, in the smoky glow of late hour. Birds settle into evening perch and white gardenias open in iridescent dress. Everything wet. And I breathe. Satisfied. A well-watered garden. A well-watered woman. Because I met Him.

By Jody McNatt, even the sparrow…