Seasonal Part 2

Harvest and Papa proceeded through the small garden to
a small dirt path on the other side and began to follow it to where
Papa only knew. Onward they traversed on the dirt trail, passing
gardens on the left and right. Some were overflowing with vibrant
flowers, some priming with luscious fruit, some bursting with amazing
aromas from the herbs nestled within. Papa kept trucking along with
his straw hat and sword slung over His shoulder, Harvest merely tried
to keep up as her eyes wandered to and from trying to take in the
scenery.

At
last, His pace slowed down until Harvest walked up beside Him to see
the view which caused Him to stop. They stood on an unassuming green
hill, but before them for miles stretched a garden. It’s
the garden of the God,
Harvest amused. The sight was unique to say the least for even
though the garden appeared quite manicured, it also was clearly
haphazard with tall fruit trees and flower bushes sprouting up amidst
the lines of strawberries and rows of cabbage. Harvest looked up at
Papa. He knew precisely what she was thinking and answered without
missing a beat, “What?” He joked, “Sometimes as I pick green
beans, I must have a delicious orange. I just like stuff where I
like stuff.” She laughed, shaking her head.

Dropping the sword down to the ground, Papa whispered;
the anticipation of the moment preceded His words, “Watch closely.”
Harvest peered left and right, not sure what she was looking for,
but hoping desperately she would not miss it. Her eyes were drawn to
a large oak tree standing ridiculously tall in the middle of a
pumpkin patch. Squinting, she did notice something interesting.
It’s leaves were changing color. Slowly at first…then quickly.
Within moments, the leaves had fallen off the tree and new buds were
already sprouting. The new leaves grew large and green only to begin
to dry out and turn orange and yellow. Harvest was amazed. She saw
this oak tree experience all four seasons in a matter of moments,
right before her eyes. But the pumpkins below seemed comfortably
settled into autumn the entire time. As she turned to face Papa and
inquire of this sight, she saw Him with the sword drawn towards the
oak tree.

“Keep watching,” He whispered again as he began to
move the point of the sword towards other trees, bushes and vines.
She watched as He waved the sword about how the seasons would change
around specific plants or groupings of plants. He might as well have
been conducting a seasonal orchestra. “Now,” He handed the sword
to Harvest, “it’s your turn.”

Harvest
tentatively took the sword in both hands and looked around the
garden. Where
should I point it? I haven’t a clue how to do what Papa just did.
As she looked down at the abundance of plants, something strange
began to happen. There was a sense inside her, an undeniable
feeling, that the apple tree beside the blueberry bushes was craving
winter. Drawing her sword with both hands, Harvest pointed at the
tree and at once, winter came to the apple tree. It was soon
followed by spring. Soon she felt undeniably sure that the field of
daisies were hungry for summer. Pointing her sword again, she saw
the daisies perk up and the ground become more dry. With bewildered
joy, Harvest began to wield the sword over the whole garden as the
plants ebbed and flowed with the seasons. With her arms at last
growing weary, she put the sword down.

“In this garden, Harvest, the seasons don’t just
happen, you see? Something inside the plants craves them. They
hunger for winter and thirst for spring. The seasons enable the
plants to grow, and I have placed destiny in their roots, that they
may have an insatiable appetite to be fully grown.” He looked down
at Harvest and lovingly patted her hands around the sword. “You are
a season shifter, my Harvest. You were created to shift things for
my Kingdom. Shifting seasons. It’s not about arbitrary change, it’s
about ushering in maturity. As you wield my Word, you will usher in
maturity for my bride. Your life, your declarations, your presence
will bring forth new seasons for others to mature in. You see, in
the Kingdom, seasons are like paint brushes, stroking refinement,
color, and vision.”

Harvest just stared at Him thinking of all the
implications of her life being one that initiated change and maturity
in others. “But what if I bring about the winter season? How
dreary!”

“In the Kingdom it is not that winter means bad times
and summer means good. The seasons aren’t empirically good or bad,
they are divine transitions that lead to maturity, more so if one’s
eyes are on me. This is the transformation power of Truth, when it
is wielded ‘in season’, as it were.” Papa winked.

Just
as Harvest drew the sword near her to think more on what Papa had
said, she began to hear drums.