I remember getting word that our firstborn had a birth defect in his intestines. It was discovered in utero and he’d need surgery after delivery. I spent hours researching the myriad issues that might accompany this diagnosis—each search sending me deeper into a world of stress.
I tried, with all the energy I had, to consider how what was happening was not actually happening. I called the doctor. I checked potential symptoms. I worried. I even admitted, “I can’t take this,” to my cousin.
You’ve probably been there, too. You feel something off in life—in yourself, in those around you, in a new environment—and you start to worry. It could be small but it quickly snowballs.
Imagine your life as three different gardens. They’re nested one inside another. Up against the edges, you find yourself anxious, not knowing what sits out over the boundary.
Garden One: The Life We Long For
The first garden is full of what we believe makes life meaningful.
We want to always have money in the bank, so we fight for the best jobs. We pursue great schooling opportunities in hopes that we can secure long-term employment and be able to afford any aspect of life that might come our way. It feels responsible and perhaps even necessary.
When we get married, we imagine great conversations, great sex, lots of laughter, and a deep connection to our spouse. We’ve heard other people talk about the importance of date nights so we preemptively block out every Thursday night ad infinitum for long, meaningful discussions and time together.
Our kids will be healthy and will always have a great relationship with us. Our faith is important so we spend eight months finding a great church with lots of people our age and all of the proper programming to support our family. We fight for friendships that will last a lifetime—for us and for our kids.
But we find that garden isn’t as comfortable as we would like it to be.
As we spend time tending to these aspects of life—and sometimes sowing those hopes and dreams quite early (anyone plan their perfect wedding when they were eight?)—we start to see signs of trouble.
That perfect job? The company might downsize. Your role looks redundant and you might lose it and, with it, your stability. The marriage? It’s “fine.” You’ve had a number of date nights, but the past few months have felt hollow. Your church? Several friends have left and the preaching is more boring than you recalled at first. Maybe a change of scenery would be good for you.
Garden Two: The Life We Avoid
Beyond the edge of that first garden are all of the “what ifs” that keep us up at night. What if you picked the wrong job? What if your spouse is unfaithful? What if you are unfaithful? What if your kid gets sick? What if your wife miscarries? What if you get sideways with your friends and they leave you?
Thus, we begin to put up warning signs and fences to avoid the danger on the outside.
They often show up as rules that we use to try to keep us firmly in the first garden.
“We only give our kids the healthiest foods so that they won’t get cancer.”
“I will deliver the best projects at work so that I have an inside track to keeping my job.”
“I will always talk with my husband about what he wants so that he won’t pursue other women.”
All of these rules seem good in a sense—eating healthy, working hard, loving a spouse—but the activity is rooted in trying to preserve something. The energy it takes to stay inside that first garden exhausts us, because we can’t guarantee its outcome.
But there’s even more out beyond that second garden—we can’t quite see it. We’ve spent so much energy trying to stay inside our first and avoid the second, that we don’t know what’s out beyond the far fences.
See below for how you can use this in a counseling situation:
Garden Three: The Life We Have
I call garden one the garden of fantasy. It’s a world that doesn’t actually exist. We just pretend it does.
I call garden two the garden of fear. All the life events we never want to see grow—the ones we pretend don’t exist—live there.
Then there’s that final garden, the garden of faith. This one includes everything you hope is true, everything you fear could come true, and everything you can’t imagine happening. It has higher highs than you thought, lower lows, and a million other plants you haven’t even seen yet.
You’ve probably heard, “We walk by faith not by sight,” (2 Cor 5:7). Yet so often we want to keep life to what we see. “It’s safer here,” we say. “It’s wise.” But really, it is fantasy or fear.
When I learned we’d be headed to surgery at a day old, I felt what might be growing out amongst the fear. I didn’t want that world. “I can’t take this,” I said. What I meant was, “This is not what I expected.”
That’s the fear talking.
What I could do is receive it. Receive what I wasn’t expecting. Know there was anxiety, but that God could meet me there. And he did.
Living by faith requires surrender. We surrender our plans, dreams, hopes, and outcomes. “What if my spouse dies?” She might. “What if I lose my income?” You might. “What if my son walks away from the faith?” He might.
Surrender the desire, receive what comes, walk by faith.
The most freeing aspect of the garden of faith is that it is there, and there only, we recognize we aren’t even the gardener.