Lesson 283 THREE GARDENS

Army of Tennessee Chaplain David Chaltas

 

 

I dreamt of three gardens. The first garden was of unfathomable beauty. It was filled with innocence. The Master had planted it and a river flowed to water the garden. The river divided and became four rivers. One was called Pishon. The second was Gihon. Tigris was the third. And the fourth was Euphrates. All trees and plants produced delicious fruits. And the man and woman who were the overseers had the honor of naming all of the plants and animals that were in the garden. The voice on the wind was so sweet that the birds stopped their singing just to listen. All was right with the world until they disobeyed the Master and they were cast out into a world of sorrow.

I dreamt of three gardens. The second though beautiful was filled with sorrow because of the people. It was a place of tears and petitions. It was saturated with sweat that turned to blood. It was hallowed ground, made so by the prayers of one man who was troubled and burdened. He sought God’s guidance and pleaded with Him for strength to fulfill his destiny. The trees moaned in anguish. The very leaves shook with sorrow. The rocks cried out to God, as the garden became darkened by the sounds of betrayal.

I dreamt of three gardens. The last was one in which my mind could not describe. It was a land of milk and honey. It was a land where there was no sickness, no sorrow, or no sadness. It was a land of renewed strength in which there was great rejoicing and unimaginable love. The streets were paved in golden splendor with precious stones crowning the walls. All things were of perfection. Perfect harmony abounded in all hearts and God’s voice once again rode the wind.

I dreamt of three gardens. And when I awakened I discovered that they were real. The first can be found in Genesis 1:8-25. It is called the Garden of Eden. I thought that this surely represented God’s goodness. The second garden was called Gethsemane and can be found in Matthew 26: 36-46. I thought that it surely represented the love of Christ. The third garden is called Paradise. To me it represented the Trinity’s gift of salvation. Revelation 21:4 reveals a glimpse into our eternal home. “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” Isaiah 55: 12-13 states, “For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap [their] hands. Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree, and instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle tree: and it shall be to the LORD for a name, for an everlasting sign [that] shall not be cut off.” Oh happy days without end! There are many more references but all pale in comparison to what we will discover on the other shore. I can only imagine.

I recall the words of a U. S. Representative regarding his love for the South. His name was Edward Ward Carmack. He painted an eloquent image of the land he loved. The words are as follows: "The South is a land that has known sorrows; it is a land that has broken the ashen crust and moistened it with tears; a land scarred and riven by the plowshare of war and billowed with the graves of her dead; but a land of legend, a land of song, a land of hallowed and heroic memories. "To that land every drop of my blood, every fiber of my being, every pulsation of my heart, is consecrated forever. I was born of her womb; I was nurtured at her breast; and when my last hour shall come, I pray GOD that I may be pillowed upon her bosom and rocked to sleep within her tender and encircling arms." Our Native American brothers and sisters understood the love for their gardens. Listen to a portion of the words spoken by Chief Seattle in a treaty speech given dated 1854. “To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tablets of stone by the iron finger of your God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could never comprehend or remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors -- the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people. “Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered vales and verdant lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them…We will ponder your proposition and when we decide we will let you know. But should we accept it, I here and now make this condition that we will not be denied the privilege without molestation of visiting at any time the tombs of our ancestors, friends, and children. Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as the swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves, fond mothers, glad, happy hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season, will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits. And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land. The White Man will never be alone. “Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of worlds.” As beautiful as these words are, they pale in comparison to our inheritance we receive upon receiving Christ into our hearts. The indescribable garden waits. Friends don’t miss out on the Third Garden. It calls you and there is a home reserved for you. All you have to do is ask for the key. Seeking the third garden, I remain the old general