Bible Time: James 1

James 1 speaks a lot of lessons to me, but upon contemplation and reflection I find v 6-8 to be the most convicting. He writes, "But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind. For let not that man suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways." Too often I pray and ask God for something or I pray his will be done in my life, and then when I receive an answer, particularly an answer I do not like, I change my mind and decide to do things my way or I twist what God says to fit my own devious machinations. How can I expect God to give me anything if I don't trust him enough to provide it!? When I pray, am I sincere? If not, what is prayer if not simply talking to the ceiling? Moreover, how can I forgo the will of Almighty God for some petty human tactic. Am I really unwise enough to believe that I, in my limited knowledge and vision, am a better planner than an omnipotent, omniscient God? Surely he has reasoning beyond my comprehension for what he commands. I laugh aloud at my own foolishness, yet I continue to struggle with this all too often. What can I do to change this? First, I must pray with sincerity for the faith to trust the Lord that because his ways are not my ways, they are the best ways. Second, I must actually act in obedience to what he says to do; this is what he commanded. Thirdly, through this, it is important to realize I am not alone in these experiences, and God has provided me with a body of believers from whom to draw upon experience, encouragement, and wisdom. SB

I Am Your Gardener - preview of my next short story

The mind is a tenuous instrument, so fragile, and when it breaks, the consequences are dire, sometimes tragic, and sometimes murderous. These consequences are the stuff of legends and tales told around a summer’s campfire when the ghastly moon hangs full in the nighttime sky. The pitiable fools who share these stories have no idea of the words they speak, the severity of each syllable they convey to their companions. If they only knew, they would not be so brash.

“I am your gardener.” Each word that echoes inside her mind is a piercing syringe, injecting her with inconceivable fear. Poison courses through her blood, destroying everything that was her innocence. And he held the needle that contained the venom. It was him. He killed them.

It had been a prosperous year for the Maclays. James Maclay had finally found the success in finance he had been waiting for, and was able to move his family into their dream house, an 1787 French Colonial, standing blue and white in the serenity of a secluded area all their own. Maclay was proud to finally offer his family something he felt they had always deserved. The house, though more extravagant than what the Maclays were used to, still possessed a spirit of homeliness, albeit a bit eerie. Architecturally wondrous, it stood two stories tall, complete with balconies, a dance hall, and its very own outdoor garden. The garden was perhaps the home’s choicest feature, as one could lose himself wandering its blooming flowers and shady trees for hours, merely experiencing nature. With its great beauty though came an awful demand of time and labor that practically begged for a caretaker.

So began his search for the perfect gardener, one who would pour as much dedication and concern into the plants as James had into his family. One who called gardening his art.