The old man cried,
No, there is a God, a caring, patient God!
But why is he taking my Rebekah?
The process has been going on for years.
Slowly, painfully, drawing out the agony.
Giving him seeds of hope.
That never blossom in this arid time of decline.
Or maybe the seed has blossomed.
And now is losing its bloom,
Leaf by leaf
As the old man does all he can
Whispering words of encouragement
Which fall on deaf ears.
As another leaf falls and then another
Until there is a mound of withered leaves
Which will soon blow away,
By a gentle breeze which gives comfort to others.
But not to him
His suffering is not nearly over.
There is more,
So much, so much more.
Then the branches turn from green to brown to grey.
They are snapped easily but feel no pain
All feelings have departed long ago
But the gardener remains
Staring at the dead sapling
Hoping that it will come back in the spring.
The roots are still strong!
The stem is only sleeping!
It will come back!
Miracles happen every day!
He needs only one miracle to save his wife,
So many years spent in prayer and meditation,
Weren’t they worth one miracle?
But a gardener cannot expect the rain to come
When it is convenient.
The gardener works the land he has,
In the time he has been given,
And must let the rest go.
And accept the judgement of heaven.