They always said it that way.

Sarah could hear the pointed words as though she had witnessed them visually before her, written in jerky strokes of agitation.

“If she’s comin’ in like a lamb, she’ll be sure to roar out like a lion.”

It wasn’t until she had reached the grown-up age of eight, that Sarah had finally understood what this was talking about.

Spring, with its buds, blossoms and mix of sunshine and rain. Spring, with it’s sparking of hope and stirring of earth.

So Spring could change its temperament?

It always confused Sarah. Especially when she found out that Spring not only arrived “like a lamb”, but left like one too, last year. Sometimes adult’s words didn’t make sense to her. Like they wore glasses that only showed the world one way. And what was worse, was that different adults carried different kinds of glasses and often the difference made for retaliation and disturbances within their conversations. Disturbances which always made Sarah feel sorry for them and wish she could make it all better.

This might have gone on to have a worse ending for Sarah’s feelings as she grew older, but that never came to be because of the Gardener.

He lived down by the stream that ran across a back road. The village wasn’t large where they lived, but it sprawled about as though having come up with a mind of its own and determined to be artistic in every note of the word. It made for charming nooks and curious corners among their streets.

Often in the summer, wild flowers and carefully propagated flowers dwelt together in a beautiful harmony, each giving the other the space it needed to flourish. It was an olden sort of place. Hearkening back to its roots of long ago by the crumbling rockeries and musty chimney stacks. Several homes had slowly melted into disrepair, becoming a feature of the landscape, as green grasses and every kind of flower overtook the aging wood and stone.

For Sarah, it was the landscape of her home. And she loved it.

But the Gardener.

That had been best of all. She’d known Him for years as her mother and father had often taken her to visit Him. But now, she went on her own. It wasn’t far. A little walk through several canopies of willow trees and a small rocky path lined with forget-me-nots always led the way. Occasionally, she’d take her little sister, Naomi, and they’d both walk the gentle path to the Gardener’s home.

But there was one thing that confused her. The most striking viewpoint of dissonance among the adults was this: Some loved the Gardener but others did not.

Sometimes she watched from a distance as He passed through their village during the day. She would study the look on people’s faces and notice how some would merely nod in His direction. Some would purposefully turn away. And even more would act as though they had not seen Him at all. But there were others, like herself, who often would run up to His side and clasp His hand and walk right next to Him. She always loved feeling the warmth of that hand. It was big, solid, and firm. No matter how many times she reached out to grasp it, His hand was always the one that held hers, not the other way around. Whenever she walked beside Him, nothing scared her. 

She didn’t fully understand why it was she wasn’t afraid when He was near, but what she did know, was that she loved Him so much.

And that it confused her why others didn’t feel the same way.

“They must not understand His love.” Sarah told her little sister one evening as they were sitting on the front step of their home.

Naomi looked up, her eyes sparkling as she replied. “I love Him.”

“I do too.” Sarah answered, placing her chin in her hands. “I just wish the others knew.”

Naomi looked thoughtful, her sweet face showing that babyhood was not far behind her, yet her words were wise. “They don’t know the truth.”

Sarah was a little shocked.

“Oh, I don’t know–” but then she stopped. Could Naomi be right? If they hadn’t visited the Gardener for themselves, how would they know? How easy it would be to come up with one’s own conception of who the Gardener was!

Sarah had thought over this many times since her conversation with Naomi that evening. It made sense to her. Just the day before, she had heard the aging shopkeeper in a tight conversation with her father.

“His requirements are too hard.” He had said, his face in a scowl.

Sarah’s father had gently replied. “True, there are requirements to following Him, but you don’t understand. The requirements look hard when we don’t focus on His love. We cannot, of our own strength do what He requires. But the Gardener has promised to be our Advocate. He is out searching everyday for the lost, like a shepherd seeking His lost sheep. What we need to do is simply admit what is true: we can’t do it. But He can. And with open arms, ask for Him to do it, seeking Him and His ways with all our hearts.”

The shopkeeper had grunted then and buried himself in a messy corner of the shop, pointedly indicating his desire for the conversation to end.

Although she felt sorry for the man, Sarah had been mostly caught up in her father’s words. The Gardener’s love was very great. She knew that for a fact. Why didn’t others understand? And when the shopkeeper left the next day on a journey to see his ailing brother, she wondered if the man would ever find the truth.

It was a gentle Spring morning not long after this, that Sarah and her little sister Naomi wound their way down the short path to the Gardener’s home. She wanted to ask Him some hard questions. She really needed the answers.

Why didn’t people understand His love?

Why didn’t they want to hear the truth?

Why were so many avoiding Him?

The morning had turned to afternoon before Sarah left the Gardener that day. When she and her sister exited the cottage, they were not returning empty-handed. The small wagon was a sturdy one and the round lanterns within jumped a little as they rolled across the gravel and stone walkway.

Sarah felt an excitement rise up in her heart. There was something that her own heart and hands could do that would help others know the truth that could set them free from their burdened hearts!

With eager footsteps, Sarah and Naomi continued on beyond their home to the Doorway Bridge.

It was an usual name for the simple stone structure that arched over a gentle stream. But the name was a true one, as it marked a sort of “doorway” to the rest of the countryside. If one took a simple fishing boat and followed the stream past the bridge, it would be easy to have access, much like a main road, to many villages beyond.

The Spring day had changed its temperament into a rainy disposition and a misty coldness filled the atmosphere.

Sarah hardly noticed. Her mind was intent on the one goal that had lit a fire in her heart.

She needed to do this. The Gardener had asked her to. Surely if He had asked, He knew she could do it.

Stopping by the side of the stream, Sarah picked up one of the lanterns and handed it to her little sister. Already, the lanterns were flickering with a joyful glow.

“Here, Naomi. Hold it like this. Now when you get to the edge of the water, gently put it into the stream.”

After sending out several lanterns, Sarah grasped her little sister’s hand.

“Look, let’s watch them for a moment.”

The two stood in joy-filled awe as the lanterns of hope drifted under the Doorway Bridge. Their light seemed to grow all the brighter the further they went.

Naomi whispered. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”

Sarah considered for a moment. “No, probably not. But I think perhaps we’ll see the light on people’s faces of those who found them.”

For years afterwards, Sarah and her little sister Naomi could be found at Doorway Bridge, sending off lanterns of hope.

Not one ever drifted back or returned un-lit. Their town was small, with few visitors, and so Sarah often never knew where the lanterns went or who was helped by them. But she had the Gardener’s promise and command, so she knew that it was not unfruitful work, even if she did not witness the results herself.

Some days it was hard as she watched them disappear and wondered if all her work was in vain. However, she always knew that whenever she felt such discouragement, spending time with the Gardener would hearten her for her work. He always helped her see with His vision, and gave her the passion and motivation to continue.

One day, Sarah, now a young woman, was walking through the village when she noticed that the shopkeeper down the street must have come back home. There was an “open” sign hanging once again over the door. She hurried to welcome the shopkeeper back to town. His trip had been extended greatly since she had seen him as a young girl, and she wondered how he had fared.

“Hello!” She called brightly, swinging open the door and holding it for a couple of customers desiring entry.

“Why, is it Sarah?” The shopkeeper smiled, adjusting his spectacles. “You’ve grown up while I was away.”

Sarah gasped, and lifted a hand to her mouth.

It wasn’t the man’s words.

It was his face. Light was there. Hope-filled light. Light, like she saw everyday on the face of the Gardener.

She spoke with awe. “Where, how?”

The shopkeeper seemed confused at first, but then it dawned on him. “Yes! I’ve found the truth, Sarah. Your father will be glad to know.”

“But how?”

The shopkeeper grew thoughtful. “It was after my brother died from his illness. I was that wrought up that I went to a tall bridge in the town called “Ending Bridge”. But before I crossed it, I noticed something bright gleaming along the side of the river. I went down to see what it was, and found a lantern of hope.” The man’s eyes had filled with tears. “I don’t know how it ended up there, all I can think is that the Gardener sent it for me.”

Sarah’s heartbeat sounded in her ears. Yes. Yes!!

But the man didn’t even know it was her? That’d she been sending those for years?

Suddenly, Sarah knew. It didn’t matter. For it was true … “Yes,” she replied. “The Gardener sent it.”

“I’m so grateful. I wouldn’t be here if He hadn’t.” The shopkeeper smiled radiantly through his tears. “Your father was right. The Gardener loves me.”

When Sarah left the shopkeeper’s store, she didn’t walk, she ran …to the Gardener’s home. She had walked by faith up to this point, but now that faith had truly become sight and she was overwhelmed. How grateful she was that she had listened and obeyed! 

And now, she knew with a settled conviction. She wanted to be a Hope Sender for the rest of her life.

As the years continued, lanterns could always be found on that stream.

Lanterns, faithfully sent out by a young woman who turned to a middle-aged woman, who one day became an aged woman.

But even when her hands were weak, she could always lift a lantern of hope and set it to sail through the Doorway Bridge.

Even when her steps were unsteady, she never failed to come with an armful of lanterns and watch them drift along the stream.

And far, far, away in lands she never once saw for herself, lanterns, beating with the light of hope, sparkled like stars in the darkness.

Stars that radiated across the world.

Some lanterns were lifted and taken further across land. Some lanterns drifted and were caught at the dock of a cottage. Some lanterns, sent when Sarah’s eager young hands had set them assail, still waited, quietly, patiently, in front of some home that simply ignored the flickering outside of their door. Some lanterns now resided inside of cottages far, far, away, their light illuminating the space with joy.

And one day, when the Gardener takes Sarah Home, she’ll know.

Not one lantern was ever in vain.

“Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.”

Eccleasiastes 11:1

“Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.”

1 Corinthians 15:58

“So shall My word be that goeth forth out of My mouth: it shall not return unto Me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.”

Isaiah 55:11

“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”

Psalm 119:105

It is like pulling away a curtain of dark blindness so deep and burning it scars all who stand under its power.

It is the cutting of skin—the cruel ending of breath—the spilling of red-blood life.

SEE PRODUCT

Post last updated 4/29/21