Misty slumped in the middle of her beautiful garden and wept. “Why, God? Why do they mistreat my creations? ”
She’d worked incessantly, planting a wild array of flowers, bushes, and trees. She’d spread her artistry for all to see and enjoy, but people abused its beauty. They wandered off the paths, picked flowers, and let their children trample delicate plants while they chased butterflies and hummingbirds.
“I’m weary of it all. I’m just going to let it die. I don’t care anymore.”
Gradually, Misty replaced her beautiful plants with rocks. Stone gardens became her outlet for her inner artistic drive. The crowds waned, but Misty pressed on to create. After all, she was an artist.
She built a brick wall along the back of her rockery and painted a mural in memory of her former beauty. So vivid were the colors and details that crowds became attracted to her stony, painted gardens.
“Why are they coming back?” Misty asked God one day. “I’m not interested in sharing my splendor.”
“Because they’re drawn to your beauty,” He whispered in the gentle breeze.
Misty continued to erect her wall, but not to frame her existing creation. Instead, she established a new place to work. Sheltered from everyone, the partition surrounded her.
“Ahh, it’s so peaceful in here. I can plant a living garden again.”
Thrilled to have a safe place, Misty flourished in the shadow of the brick hedge. On occasion, she’d sneak through a carefully disguised door and mingle incognito among the public.
“I just love the artistry displayed here, don’t you?”
Caught off guard by the question, Misty simply nodded to the woman.
“Do you come here often?”
“Well,” Misty cleared her throat, “yes, I frequent the gardens.”
“Me too, I feel drawn here. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I wonder if the artist who painted the magnificent wall is hiding something. I see sorrow in it. Do you see it?”
“No,” Misty crossed her arms over her chest, a subconscious shelter for her soul.
“See among the droopy branches of the weeping willows and birches? Look…there’s even tendrils of live wisteria peeking over the top of the wall? I sense pain and fear.”
After a span of silence, the stranger turned to Misty. “I have a hunch the artist experiences emotional sorrow. I struggle with constant physical pain. To me, the mural depicts hope amidst our anguish. Whoever the creator is, we’re kindred spirits.”
The stranger meandered off and Misty stared at her work with new eyes before she slipped through her private doorway into the inner garden. She inhaled the heady fragrances…dirt, woodsy, floral aromas mixed with…what else did she smell? Did pain and sorrow have a scent? Perhaps fear and mistrust?
Misty watched for the stranger to return. She casually allowed their paths to cross among the stone arrangements.
“Well, hello there,” the stranger hugged her.
Misty tried to not recoil at the physical touch.
“I didn’t get your name the other day. I’m Agnes.”
The two strolled and exchanged tidbits of life.
“What do you think of this rock pattern?” Agnes pointed to the swirling design of colored rocks.
“Umm,” Misty hesitated. “It’s sort of dizzying…out of control.”
Misty began to see how her work displayed her inner being in subtle ways.
“And these huge boulders seem to be plopped in the middle of everything swirling around it; random, yet intentional…large, heavy, burdensome boulders amidst the dizzying, colorful patterns…interesting.”
After several chance meetings, Misty didn’t realize, one day, when Agnes observed her from a distance. Misty inconspicuously disappeared through the painting on the wall. She wandered to her weeping bench, appropriately named after Agnes pointed out the weepy foliage in the mural.
Quiet tears slipped unchecked. Here she sat among her prized perfected masterpiece…alone. The garden enclosed by towering brick walls held every secret of her inner most being. From the mycelium fungus layer, to the wandering wisteria on the wall, this hidden place quietly declared Misty’s insecurities.
“God, I’m so lonely.”
“You’ve enclosed yourself in a walled paradise. Perhaps you need to allow someone in,” His whispers dropped ever-so-gently into her soul.
Misty heard something…
“Oh my goodness,” Agnes gasped. “You created all this…and the rocks and mural?”
Startled by the intrusion, Misty nodded.
“Oh Misty, joy and sorrow mingle in this private inner garden,” Agnes hugged Misty and held her tight. “Will you share your most secret place with me? Please, I beg you, let me in…”
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