Let Us Begin: A Letter from the Garden Within

This is not a polished story. It is not a redemption arc with a bow on top. This is sacred ground, where memory, grief, anger, and longing meet a God who refuses to turn away.

These are letters between a wounded child and a persistent Love, the One who calls her back to the old wooden pew… to begin again.

There’s a place I return to when I need to feel at home. Not a place outside of me, but deep within, where memory rests in fragments and hope dares to rise. I come back to this old wooden pew, not because it’s holy in itself, but because He meets me here. Even when I’ve spent years running.

God, please, "she begs," I search for a sign of you.

This first post isn’t written to impress. It’s written because something inside me had to speak, years ago. The child within me would no longer stay quiet because God was already listening. And so, I let the words fall. I let the poem rise. I let the wounded child speak to God, to me, and now, maybe to you.

She speaks of grief and despair and a childhood where shoes left bruises and silence was expected. She wrestles with the idea of “childlike trust,” and wonders aloud how we are supposed to walk across shattered glass when our feet still bleed.

And with those bleeding feet, I encountered this within the Garden…

Poem: On the Old Wooden Pew

So, she’s finally returned to the old wooden pew. God, please, she begs, I search for a sign of You.

She encountered one day a man called despair, he blackened her heart and began his crafty wear.

She has met a woman named Grief, and like a tree in winter, her soul sheds, sprouting new leaves.

But today, she will see a child; I will name her Hope, yet she won’t hear her at first, due to the past’s tightening hold.

I send the child forth, yet she will not know why, for every expression she lends only begs at good-bye. Child, steady your advance as she continues to push; your freedom is weeping; she will urge you to hush. They now stand face to face; raise your weary head, realize who you look at is the child I know you dread.

Child, grant her a smile, then begin to speak; a familiar young voice from relieved lips will leak:

"I can stand up to a woman, by name she is grief, and like a tree reborn in Spring, your soul will sprout one leaf. I can overcome today's man called despair, I’ll capture your heart and heal those tears you bear. How I've been searching for any sign of your desire for my return, for to me, God whispers of your heart's burn..."

‘My child, she doesn't yet know, but searching is what her lips wear; it is releasing you from within that she longs to be spared.’

So, I asked the Lord where I could encounter your heart, for I only wish to return what was taken from the start. It is I, you now see, this child within you. I am here, and if you allow,

We will reunite forever on this old wooden pew.

A Sacred Invitation

I didn’t write this as a conclusion. I wrote it as a beginning. Because sometimes healing doesn’t look like fixing, it seems like returning. It looks like sitting in silence with what still hurts and letting God hold it all.

Maybe today you need to let your child speak. Perhaps there are questions you’ve been afraid to ask, emotions you’ve been taught to suppress, or memories that have shaped you without your consent.

This is your sacred permission: Let it speak. Write the letter. Let the tears fall. Meet the God who is not afraid of your past, and who will never turn away from your truth.

Pause and Reflect

Is there a part of you that’s been begging to speak: a child within, a question, a memory? What would it say if it knew God was listening?

Write a letter. Begin with 'Dear God' and let it flow. You are not alone on the wooden pew of your heart. The Garden Within is already growing even now. Let us begin.

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-Originally posted in a collection of poems and letters entitled The Us in Me as part of a healing project where one encounters the wounded child within from my first website, Becoming Sound (2018). Please click on the tag 'The Us in Me' to explore further.