Gardens and Towers: On Forgiving Each Other and God.

The story is told like this–

There is a lady and a man, though potentially not in that order, and God likes them both well enough.  And they are maybe even happy but definitely equal living in the newest and first flora and fauna.  And then there’s the bad thing that no one knows who to blame for and hardly understands; but the truth is, someone has to pay for the damage.  So God loses out on his Garden he’s been growing and considers a hermit’s lifestyle, something he was tipped off to recently from an oceanic creature he pinched out from his fingertips.  Additional curses are doled out to the lady and the man– not necessarily one worse than the other, just different.  But the difference makes all the difference.  And the lady and the man find the whole thing unbearable, because they will never know what it is like to be cursed in the same way.

Lately, I wonder if the Great Love of God is just an excuse to not love each other better.  Because the Great Love of God doesn’t seem to be able to find a way around our differences, either.


Then this–

the people are finally all getting along when they decide to build a tower to the sky.  They want to touch God.  And while now we craft all sorts of unsaintly love songs to Jesus with the same sentiment but no action, we aren’t about to get into trouble these kids were about to.

BAM! Confusion.  Chaos.

And suddenly, no one is struck dead in the usual Way, but everyone is given a new tongue.  And everyone’s tongue is ripe in their mouth for a language only they can hear.  And the tower is called off– now God can go back to being an agoraphobic and peak out from under his blinds as the people, once united, are now separated by their differences.  Which still hasn’t been solved today.  Again, no language is better.  Just that only a few people are able to know what it’s like to grow up with that language.  And a few come to understand through Rosetta’s Stone…


–but then, a few are coming to understand our Garden Differences, too, with a little surgery and an inventory of the heart.  And I wonder, once we are all united and we call the curses off and the tongues go back to how we can all hear them, will God be disappointed?

Will God be disappointed that after being the same and then struck different over and over again, this time we won’t be asking him for any closeness at all?  This time, we will not choose to look for the first magic Garden.  This time we will not try to build a tower tall enough to touch him.  And will God open the door wide and stare at his mailbox at the end of the sidewalk and realize the damage had been done?  There is no return this time?


Or, will we all be able to forgive God, too, for foiling our plans to love each other?

Then again, I wonder lately if my anger has been for years misplaced on the Great Love of God instead of the ones I love who aren’t looking out at their mailbox for me.

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