Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Garden (09/07/06)
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TITLE: Hands in the Garden | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gordon Whitehead
09/13/06 -
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John sat, head down, shoulders slumped, tears now draining from his eyes. Soon his shoulders moved in moderate convulsion as he unsuccessfully attempted to hold back his emotions. Rick, sitting behind his desk, holding each end of a pencil with his thumb and forefingers, just watched. He watched this pathetic outpouring of passion, of depression, of discouragement. “Seven years of graduate school, countless research projects, tests, workshops, and even a few articles published by me and I just cannot figure out what to say.” Rick prayed a silent prayer now, “help me dear God, help me help this man.” What can I say that will not only relieve the suffering, but bring hope? Yet, not just hope alone, but some real foundation for hope. John is reaching the end of his rope, I can feel it…I’ve got to reach him.” Rick just sat there, staring. John, who continued to sob, his shoulders moving more consistently now as the full measure of emotion poured out, his head now buried in between his thick masculine hands.
“Those hands.” Rick began to think, suddenly, and idea came into his mind. The idea drifted in so suddenly, yet subtly. An idea driven by the image of those strong hands. “There were other hands that once held these burdens.” An idea which just came to Rick now with such force that there was no doubt he was receiving inspiration. Rick continued to stare at John. John was slowly calming now, wiping his tears with a crumpled, well-used tissue. He looked up at Rick and sort of smiled in some embarrassment. “Sorry” is all he could say. Rick remained silent – working now to gather his thoughts. The two remained there in that uncomfortable silence that stretched for minutes though seemed like hours.
Rick looked into John’s eyes and said: “John.” John looked up, catching the sincerity in Rick’s voice and nodded. “Do you know what I see?” John shook his head. “I see a garden John, a garden that was empty – empty with the exception of a handful of men. One man in particular, whose heart was heavy, not for himself, but for all of those whom he loved so dearly came forward to grab his destiny, his passion, so that others – like you and me John – could wrestle with our own difficulties.” John looked intently at Rick wondering where this was going. “The garden was barren, except for an old olive tree, it was by that gnarled ancient tree that the Son of Man knelt and wept and prayed and suffered. He suffered John; he suffered with great drops of blood flowing from every poor in his body. He suffered alone, in the garden, very alone. He tried to find a friend, and not one could stay awake. The suffering was his alone John, his alone to do. And he did it. He bore our infirmities, he bore our weaknesses, he bore our sins, and he bore our pain. Every one of us, all humankind; we all are included in the equation of his mercy. He carried our pain in his hands, gently protecting us, so that if we remember him and seek his will, we have a power that goes before us to help us even when it seems all is lost.”
John was intently listening now. Both men were in tears, and silence continued to fill the room. Silence yes, but not silence of depression, it was a silence of a budding hope. “John” Rick paused “The garden, the suffering, the joy, and the pain was all for us. We will find success ultimately if we continue to push on. Do not let a series of discouragements keep you from becoming what that man in that garden believed was possible in you. Remember the Hands. Remember the Garden. Remember: the world can be bright, a very bright place when we have hope.”
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