Liberty's Garden

The day the rider came to report the casualty was the day I discovered life was not as it seemed. It had never happened before—not in my lifetime at least. All I remember is watching my father crumple in the doorway as I stood still on the cobblestone pathway leading up to it. I had heard the sound of hooves coming down the road and had rushed out to meet the rider, my yellow dress and light brown locks trailing behind me in the wind. But the look on the majestic messenger’s face had stopped me dead in my tracks, and when we both heard the news it struck my father more than it could have anyone else. I watched helplessly as he buried his head in his arms and let the sobs overtake him. I really had never seen him cry like that. It broke my heart and caused me to love the fallen man just as much as he did. Well, maybe not quite as much, but I got a glimpse of my father’s love that day, and it forever changed my life.

My father was the most devoted gardener in the whole world. I grew up under his care and attention just like one of his precious flowers. The garden on the side of our house was the most beautiful you’ve ever seen. People from all over would come to get refreshed and sometimes redirected. Papa loved visitors, and I loved to watch the way he would gently lead them into the gated haven of brilliant color and babbling fountains. I knew what would happen in that garden—people discovered who they were. Papa would whisper into their ears, walk with them, listen to their dreams and desires, hold them in his strong arms as they found rest from their burdensome lives, and breathe purpose into them. I knew because I went in there with him all the time. I even helped plant some of the flowers.

When I was five years old I began to understand why the people that had come to papa’s garden would later return to knock on our front door. It was because he had sent word for them to come and receive equipping for the battles. The strange thing was that I watched almost all these people come and go, and afterwards they always looked just the same as when they had come. The men would come in their business suits, their jeans, their sports uniforms, etc, and the women in their dresses, their high heels, or even with pregnant bellies. No one left with any visible armor one would think would be useful for battle, but they all left with smiles on their faces and determination in their steps. I once asked papa what he gave the people when they came. He took me in his lap as we sat in the library together and this was all he said: “Well, baby, I give them strength, I give them courage, but most of all, I give them love. Love is our greatest weapon. No enemy can stand in the midst of its power.” I just smiled as he reached behind him for one of his ancient story books he used to read to me every night before heading to bed. I fell asleep in his arms to the sound of his voice.

Sometimes I would get scared. The sound of thunder, the loneliness of the dark night, or merely fears about the enemy coming to get me caused me to tremble. At times I would call out to father; other times I wouldn’t because I would forget he was there to help me. But he always came. Every time I was scared he took me to the garden. It didn’t matter if it was pouring rain and the lightning flashed through the trees—he never failed to wrap me up in a wool blanket and carry me out there, where he would hold me and remind me he would never leave me and that I really didn’t have anything to be afraid of. He would say, “Remember who you are, Liberty! You are my daughter, and this is the garden where our love has grown and where so many others have come to get a piece of the freedom that is here. When people discover who they are, they are free! Remember who you are and who I am, and never be afraid.” Then he would kiss me on the head and rock me until my heart stilled. The rain didn’t usually stop, but it didn’t matter as long I was in papa’s arms and I knew the true beauty that surrounded us.

I knew my father’s job was important, but I didn’t know how important until the day we encountered the solemn rider. That was when I was eight years old. He had come straight from the battlefield. He pulled up, clearly out of breath, and looked sadly into my expectant face. Then he spoke to me.

“Hello, Liberty. May I speak with the King please?” My little heart skipped a beat.

“The…the King?”

“Yes, the King your father.” My eyes widened with realization and I wanted to rebuke myself for not seeing it before. Had he wanted to hide it from me? Or did he just never feel the need to tell me?

“Please, Liberty, I have urgent news.” The man’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Yes, sir, I’ll get him right away.” And off I ran back into the house to fetch “The King.”

“Papa! Papa! A rider is here! A messenger!” My voice echoed through the halls as I ran throughout the house until we collided and he caught me with his hands. He laughed, bent down, and smoothed my hair behind my ear. I didn’t smile. Instead, I looked deeply into his eyes to see if there was anything different about him. He wore regular clothes—faded jeans and a long sleeved white button down shirt with the cuffs rolled up. His brown hair nearly reached the end of his neck. He was handsome, but I never thought he’d be a king. Sure explained a lot though.

“I’m coming, sweetie. Tell him I’m coming.” This time I smiled, quickly turned around, and ran back out of the house.

When I reached the messenger, his horse seemed uneasy and the rider’s eyes were averted as if his mind were elsewhere. I was out of breath from running and had my hands on my knees.

“He’s coming.” Almost the moment I said it father appeared in the doorway behind me. He spoke right from where he stood.

“Gabriel! What news do you bring, my friend?”

Gabriel, the rider, immediately flung himself off his horse and gallantly bowed.

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid I bring you dire news. One of your soldiers, Kaden, has fallen to the enemy.” And that was exactly when I watched my father become overcome with grief. He attempted to speak through his tears but was unable. I could see he was trying to thank the man. Something happened to me in that moment. I grew up a bit and felt the courage to speak for my father.

“Thank you, sir. I believe he wants you to go back to your post, but he’s thankful for letting him know.” Gabriel dipped his head solemnly and rode off into the distance to resume his duties. Ever so slowly I approached father as I witnessed his body convulse and saw what a broken heart looked like for the first time. I put my small hand on his shoulder, sat down next to him, and wrapped my other arm around his back. His right hand gripped the one I had on his left shoulder, and we both wept together. I didn’t know why I cried—I just had to.

Later that night we sat in the garden together, enjoying the color and fragrance of the flowers, and feeling the cool breeze whispering through our hair and kissing our faces. I finally worked up the courage to ask father my question.

“Papa, did that man Kaden really die? And did you love him very much?”

“Kaden was my son, just as much as you are my daughter. And yes, he died in battle. But this was a different kind of death—a death of the soul. Kaden has become prey to the enemy. He has chosen their ways over mine. He has rejected my love and virtually killed himself. But all hope is not lost. He can still choose to come back.” Papa’s voice was so gentle and full of wisdom. I had so much more to ask him, but I didn’t know if I should save some questions for later. Yet papa broke through my thoughts as if he knew what I was contemplating.

“Liberty, we grew this garden together so that people like Kaden could come, discover who they really are, believe it, and be free. Come alive, like all these flowers. I want to give you this garden as your place of influence. Next time, you will lead the weary traveler into its gates and show them love, and give them courage, and breathe purpose into them.” The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together, although I knew from that point on I faced a lifetime of discovery.