The Whisper in The Garden

Daniel - Canal Winchester, Ohio
Entered on October 20, 2008
Age Group: 30 - 50

The Whisper in The Garden

In the garden, I first heard the great whisper. Terrified, I dragged my leashed dog behind me,

to find an evangelist who could explain this marvel. This great whisper, is breathed into the heart

of all created, yet unheard by many. His whisper dwells in the words of ancient scriptures.

Jehovah’s voice, primary source, divides both truth and fact. This great whisper creates man in

the image of Father, Son, Holy Spirit infinitely. The garden is where man first chose to adhere to

another’s voice. Unexpectedly, all creation began to groan and travail together until the

redemption of the body of Christ and the regeneration of the whole earth. I hear His whisper in

the garden, praying through sweat drops of blood, until the whisper becomes evident in my ear,

to echo throughout all creation. Oh great whispers, release a communication that was retarded at

man’s fall, restored in the garden on the bloody cross of our eternal king, and reiterated by His

proclamation “he who has an ear let him hear”1

I pull my head from the sand, in a conscious state I find the Entertainment Industrialists in

diligent toil to deafen mankind from God’s great whisper. Their effort is to suffocate the world

toward an artificial respiration of the dark Prince, known of the power of the air. I believe I must

amplify this whisper to those spellbound, who aimlessly consume television. I must share the

whisper of dreams and visions to unlock the gate which divides sleep from cognizant hours. My

key is my personal, journals which contain treasures, God’s whispers. He speaks night and day,

He never sleeps nor slumbers.

1The King James version of the Holy Bible – Matthew 11:15, Revelation 1:7, 11 29, 2:6,

13, &22

This I Believe

I believe that others hear His whispers which become pieces of an intricate puzzle framed by

hands mightier than ours!

This great whisper lives within the praises of His people. The wind He rides upon is the

reverberation of praise. Praise, the evaporative, continual voice which rises heavenward. Praise

becomes majestic clouds of great glory. May my ears be refined to hear Him call His own for the

redemption of the body and the regeneration of the whole earth? Here He creates the final

garden, eternally.

I, the church, am overdue for harmony in the body of Christ. Oh, may I hear what I speak from

this earthly sphere of His heavenly realm. May I transpose from a diminutive whimper into an

exuberant shout for joy, all of which stems from my compliance to the king’s whisper which

calls “come up here; come up now, come my beloved into the wedding chamber of all eternity,

my voice is soft to my bride, my princess, my ecclessia, come to my banquet table, for my banner

over you is love.”

Just beyond the stone path lies a garden, laden with dew, gently breezed by His whisper.