In the Father's Garden: A Devotional Collection Musings and Poems My Redeemers Heart, To My Heart, To Your Heart

By Donald Clark

The sharing of feelings and emotional pictures in words that some would call poetry has been a part of my life for a long time. I have to admit I haven't done much with it until God's Spirit in me began in recent months to draw me into the Father's Garden. He spoke to my heart and mind, that His Garden is always open to His children. This place""on the sofa of my living room""became, for me, the Garden entrance each day. This was where God's Word and my life's experiences came together as the Lord began to express His Heart to mine in our time together in the Garden. What you have in hand now is a gallery of the Lord's, downloading each day of His love and desired companionship, not only to me but to you as well. My desire is that not only will you be encouraged by the sharing of God's Heart through this devotional poetry and special pieces I call "My Redeemers Heart, to My Heart, to Your Heart," but for you to enter into the Father's Garden yourself. Be blessed in Him as you do. To visit the author's website, click here.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645699316

Book preview

Day One in the Father’s Garden: Restoring Touch

(A personal experience of the restoring work of forgiveness I needed after a very bad personal blunder on my part.)

A taking time of sun-lit laughing days; quiet refreshment of one’s soul and mate, in a place of dancing waves and palm’s shade, past memories encroaching vivid as this moment taken.

Yet on thin horizon approaching, barely seen in the inmost being of one’s fragile heart, the veiled blackness dread reaching very slowly to clutch a soul’s blind speck, but such unseen pain looms El Capitan’s head.

As a child with its mother, enjoying safe haven of comfort’s encouragement and well-being to life’s settling concerns;

Unware, this deadly specter, schemes of pillage, destruction, wanton thievery, a soul’s target speck to devastate.

Forces dark, not perceiving at this moment’s launching, a reciprocating surge intercession’s Most High Place.

From Heaven’s Pavilion, a thrusting snap of command, wondrous light messengers flaming forth from a holy friend’s hands, one mercy; the other faithfulness.

Yet unperceiving heart, whose island fair lies with umbilical entrapment, dark visages sensing certain victory, not seeing light’s dawning pace of keeping love.

At last day’s morning light, a leave taking from sun-drenched sands and gentle waves, waiting at dockside, for such an early time draws no one else, we find we are number one in line.

As though such things mattered, not now but soon behold mattering beyond heart and mind’s quickness to understand, ah, but things go deeper still.

This place, a coliseum’s arena, one eternal moment, darkness and light plunging toward cataclysmic confrontation of one’s soul unseen pottered vessel’s fissure; Its end, destruction or a holy hand’s restoring mended touch.

Enter, unwitting victim of coming blackness approach, a fellow island’s departing companion; Coming dockside second, but daring to touch number one’s twisted occasion.

Deep blind speck, now raised as a Phoenix fire, rising to claim this soul’s pretentious place; armed with eye’s flashing, tongue as fiery lava, lashing out, grasped by evil darkness’ claws, upon this unsuspecting soul.

In the midst of storm’s fire, in an eye’s blinking, a release of darkness’ grip; still heat and barbs from opposing flesh, but unexpected in moment’s heat, a walking away; unexpected, unfathomed questions.

Why, oh, soul, are you grieved, shamed, weighted under by guilt’s recourses past’s affliction?

Staring as in a mirror, yet darkly, having shamed one’s own soul and soul’s helpmate, and worsening yet, shamed the gracious hand of the Holy One;

Oh, my longing soul, what are you to do?

As is sitting in a parent’s comforting lap, with strokes of loving, uplifting, healing whispered words come; humble yourself in the power of forgiveness, and the damaged unseen place will be healed now, and more later still.

Like a stage curtain pulling aside, a veil removed, and a revealed over-powering fullness of Mercy and Faithfulness; Seeing in an instant of close conflict just moments past, there shown in my heart’s mind.

God’s holy messengers of light forming a circle of protective power against the forces of darkness assembled to reap the expected fullness of destruction, but only allowed a mere touch, to bring awareness of a beloved soul’s deep, desperate need.

So there in the midst of that webbed net of entrapment, of my own damaged soul’s making and the evil one’s schemes to enforce, was this child, not in webbed net of first glance; but instead, a circle of Divine Love’s keeping hand, speaking peace to the storm and bringing a soul to its desired haven.

Day Two in the Father’s Garden: Surrender

(My personal sharing of my own salvation experience.)

Warfare against the God of Glory;

Divine Love against myself;

Not understanding,

But can warfare be understood until its passing.

My heart’s delays,

My own priorities of the way,

To peace, joy, happiness, Fulfillment—self-naïveness.

Oh, how many battles fought

Against a misunderstood assailant

Of my heart.

Finally in exhaustion of supplies for living,

I give over the sword of myself generalship;

To my New Lord of now-known Love, Jesus;

I surrender; —You now occupy the land of my being.

Day Three in the Father’s Garden: Heart’s Anchor

(My further feelings of my salvation experience, and what I sensed about God’s pursuit of me.)

Where was I those years in God passing by, Away from me, eyes not seeing; heart not perceiving.

And a gray, soft, warm-pleading shape of steadfastness, fleeting by, a glance I gave, a small movement of the hand to grasp gave I.

Time proceeding, time not mine, Soul’s purpose like sand sliding down an expansive hole—not filling; but God loves me, doesn’t He?

And a gray, soft, warm-pleading shape of steadfastness, fleeting by,

a glance I gave, a small movement of the hand to grasp gave I.

Things not right, not settled, fluid life shifting, pulling, drawing, But where once a child—fun, oh, a joy—then a growing, of putting away childish things, making a way, a way, a