God in a Garden

I decided to go for a stroll around my neighborhood on my day off. There was still unexplored land to tread on. I let my curiosity guide me and ended up at the doors of an Episcopalian church. I cupped my hands around my eyes and peeked in through the glass doors.

Churchy looking on the inside.

I wondered if it was one of those churches where all were welcome, or if it was more exclusive. I searched my brain for episcopal references.

Sex and the City, I think Charlotte was Episcopalian.

I walked around to the side and found a view of a beautiful garden. There was a stone labyrinth, a fountain, benches.

A few Blue Jays were flitting about. I asked if they were Episcopalian, they didn’t respond.

I stared at one and it stared back at me. I asked the Blue Jay if it knew God, it didn’t respond.

I soaked up the pretty view with my eyes. How that garden felt so protected from the outside world. Open 24/7 to critters and creatures, but mostly closed to those of human kind.

I wondered if God was there, in this space built for devotion.

God, spirit, the unknown. What the heck was it? And why did we seek with such thirst and fervor?

I asked into the air, what are you? [Asking the church.]

It replied, “A place to Remember.”

To remember what? That we’re more spirit than human? Something beautiful and esoteric?

No.

The reply felt more simple….

To remember that this is a story.

Millions of interwoven and interconnected stories, whew. That’s a lot of story telling.

I looked again at the garden. I took a deep breath. “A Place to Remember”

I found my way to the center of the story.

To the voice behind the words and the breath behind the voice.

There, it was peaceful.

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