THE GARDEN OF MY HEART
My heart was like an overgrown garden,
When my Jesus rescued me.
Overgrown with thorns and briars,
Not a pleasure for my God to see.
My walls were strong and tall,
Shielding my weakness from view.
The extent of weeds, thorns and creepers,
No one but He really knew.
He became for me the Door to the Father,
The creaking, rusted pane He replaced.
Like the returning prodigal son I came,
The steps of that journey retraced.
The soil, once designed for God’s purity,
Now clogged with weeds had grown.
Vines and trees, rampant and wild,
A harvest for all the bad seed I’d sown.
“Not by your mighty effort,” He then told me,
“Can you make this garden bloom.”
But rest in the Master Gardener,
Will soon replace the gloom.
So the hours of digging and pushing,
Of pruning, planting and growth,
Became such a glorious reality