The Curious Case of the Mind That Tried to Protect the Heart!
- MS
- Nov 4
- 8 min read
It began with a single question—small enough to tuck inside my pocket, yet profound enough to shake the foundation of everything I thought I knew. I wasn’t trying to challenge God; I was simply curious.
What must it have been like to walk in the Garden of Eden, in the cool of the morning and the evening, with Him?
The thought painted itself across my mind before I could stop it. Dew clung to the petals of wild lilies, catching the sun like tiny diamonds. A hush of anticipation filled the air—not silence, but a waiting, like the pause before music begins. The morning mist curled low across emerald grass like glass beads, and the air was fragrant with jasmine and a sweetness I couldn’t name. Sunlight streamed through the branches, spilling liquid gold over petals that seemed to hum with life.
In the evenings, the garden glowed under softer light, blush and lavender skies folding into one another as the breeze carried the low, warm laughter of God Himself. There was no shame, no striving—just the ease of being loved without question.
I stood in that imagined garden and realized something I had never dared to wonder before: had I been living my faith as if God’s love were something I had to convince Him to give me? As if forgiveness had to be wrestled from His hands? As if the cross was the moment a reluctant Father finally cracked the door and let grace slip through?
So I whispered into the stillness, “What was it like?”
Before the question could vanish into the air, He was beside me—His eyes bright with that knowing sparkle that always makes me feel both seen and safe.
“Like this,” Jesus said softly, gesturing for me to walk with Him.
We stepped into the morning light together, and the grass bent gently beneath our feet as if it recognized who was walking there. Birds sang—not hurried trills, but unhurried notes that matched the rhythm of our steps. The breeze was warm enough to kiss my cheek yet cool enough to refresh. Everything felt unhurried.
“You didn’t have to earn this,” Jesus said gently, sweeping His arm toward the river that shimmered like polished crystal. “In Eden, there was no need for proving, posturing, or pretending. Love was the starting point, not the reward. Adam and Eve didn’t try to impress Me into loving them; they lived from the love they already had.”
His voice brimmed with compassion, as if He longed for me to grasp the depth of the unconditional love that was always intended for me.
I blinked, letting that realization sink in. “So the cross wasn’t You finally deciding to love us?”
He smiled—the kind of smile that makes you remember how to breathe. “No, beloved, I have always loved you. I wasn’t withholding. The cross wasn’t Me changing My mind; it was Me showing you My heart.”
That morning in the garden, I realized that true healing begins where true love is finally believed. That was the day my faith stopped wobbling between religion and fear and started running straight into His arms.
Healing wasn’t just about diet or supplements, nor solely about serving others, working hard, or striving for perfection. While those things have their value, the true essence of healing came from His love—steady, patient, and freely given. That love became the foundation that transformed me.
I chuckled softly through my tears. “But people say that if it seems too good to be true, it probably isn’t real…”
He stopped, took my face in His hands, and said, “But this is the exception that rewrites that rule. My love is that good. My promises are that good and real. The freedom you have in Me—not religion, not performance, not guilt—is that good. I am the exception that proves the saying wrong.”
The air felt even sweeter after that; my steps were lighter. I wasn’t running from God anymore—I was running to Him.
Jesus reached out His hand, and I slipped mine into His. “Look, beloved. The way back was never lost. I came to restore it. I’ve always been here, walking toward you in the cool of the day. Experience isn’t an extra; it’s the very essence of knowing Me. And every morning, I’m not only here waiting—I’m already delighting, already longing for your steps. I am the Way back, not just someday, but here and now. When I came, I took away shame, fear, and separation. I restored what Adam and Eve lost: intimacy without hiding, love without conditions, belonging without end.”
As we walked further into the garden, I realized something: every bird’s song, every shimmering drop of dew, every breath of the morning air was teaching me—not through words, but through Presence—that this was the place I was always meant to live from. Not head knowledge, but heart experience.
And it all began with a simple question. That question opened a door to curiosity that had been knocking for years. And when I stepped through the door, I found Him already waiting for me.
Dear Heart, some battles aren’t fought with storms or swords. They take place in the smallest spaces—the gap between what He says and what we think. The beautiful part is that you can wake up to this wonder every morning.
Will you base your day on His truth or on your own opinions?
It’s a gentle yet powerful decision: choosing to believe in Love rather than logic.
Are you ready to embrace today’s whispers and let your heart dance with the breezes of possibility?
The Garden Awakens
The morning hummed softly, as it does just before the day begins. The dawn was gentle—the kind that feels alive before the world begins to rush. A hush rested over the garden, with birds just starting to stir and dew still clinging to the blades of grass. Light folded itself gently across the ground.
I walked barefoot, feeling the cool earth beneath my feet and carrying a cup filled with quiet questions.
I sat down beneath the olive tree where I often meet Him, pulling my knees to my chest, my mind circling a single thought: What if I’ve valued my opinions more than His voice?
Yesterday’s thoughts still echoed—how easily my self-worth can shift with my actions, and how quickly I measure divine approval by my performance.
The garden listened with me. Then, I heard footsteps approaching—the sound of peace drawing near.
When I turned, He was already smiling. His eyes held an impossible blend of sunrise and eternity.
He sat beside me on the grass without a word. We watched the stream together, slow and clear, weaving through stones like time learning to rest.
The Choice Between Voices
Jesus began to speak—not to correct, but to uncover. “Your opinions are shaped by winds—every gust of comparison, every echo of fear. But My words,” He looked toward the horizon, “set the winds in motion. Why let the breeze tell you who you are when the Maker of the sky has already spoken?”
I exhaled. “Because it feels familiar. My opinion sounds like me… even when it hurts.”
He nodded, as if that made perfect sense.
“Of course it does. It’s been your background music for years. But remember—faith isn’t pretending that noise isn’t there; it’s choosing to tune your ear higher.”
He picked up a small stone, smooth and sun-warmed, and tossed it into the stream. Ripples spread in perfect circles. “This is what belief does—it shifts the surface. You don’t have to fight every thought; just drop truth in and let it ripple.”
The Surrender of Control
I rested my hands in my lap, palms open. “So it’s a choice—believing You instead of me?”
“It’s always been a choice,” He said softly, “but not a test. It’s an invitation. You can hold on to control, or you can hold on to Me—but not both.”
A quiet breeze swept through the garden. The olive leaves shimmered like tiny mirrors catching light. I closed my eyes and breathed.
He continued, “Your opinion feels safe because it gives you something to fix. But My truth gives you something to rest in. Control demands work. Love invites surrender.”
His words settled deep, landing like dew. I noticed how every blade of grass around us held morning light without trying. Nothing in this garden strived to earn the sun—it simply turned toward it.
The Transformation
He reached for the stream again, dipping His hand into the water. Droplets fell through His fingers, catching the light like tiny stars.
“That’s what happens when you believe Me. Each drop of truth clears the waters inside you. The reflection sharpens, and suddenly, you can see Me—and yourself—more clearly.”
My throat tightened. “But what if I believe You and then forget again?”
He chuckled, that deep, kind laughter that sounds like rivers rejoicing.
“Then I remind you again. You can’t wear out grace. I’ll meet you every morning in the same place, and we’ll choose together.”
A dove landed beside the stream, cooing softly, head tilted as though listening. Her wings brushed the surface, scattering circles of gold. Everything shimmered—air, water, time. The garden felt alive with agreement.
The Moment of Belief
I whispered, “Then today, I choose to believe what You say about me, even if my feelings aren’t there yet. Because Your truth is steady, and mine is shifting sand.”
He smiled—the kind that makes everything else fade into stillness.
“Then, little one, that’s righteousness. Not perfection, but agreement.”
Something released in my chest. The old heaviness dissolved. The garden hummed with quiet celebration.
For the first time in days, I felt light—as if my opinions had finally taken off their shoes and decided to relax.
I didn’t need to modify my opinions to fit the truth.
I looked up through the branches, watching the sky transition from lilac to blue. I realized I just had to let truth embrace me until my opinions caught up.
Believing in Him isn’t about pretending—it’s about remembering.
Whispers to the Heart
“My beloved, believing Me is not pretending—it’s remembering. My words are more valid than your mood, stronger than your thoughts, steadier than your fears. Every time you choose My truth, peace moves in again.
You are not earning clarity—you are stepping into it. You don’t have to fight the lie; you only have to agree with Love. Rest. I am proud of you for choosing to believe. This is righteousness: not working your way to Me, but agreeing with what’s already true.”
Reflections from the Garden
Where in my life do I still let my opinions speak louder than His truth?
→ This week, pause before reacting to self-criticism and whisper, “What does Love say about me here?”
How does my body feel when I try to control outcomes instead of trusting Him?
→ When tension rises, breathe deeply, place a hand on your heart, and imagine His hand covering yours in stillness.
What happens inside me when I say, “I choose to agree with Love today”?
→ Speak it aloud in the morning and evening; notice how peace begins to rearrange your inner dialogue.
Can I imagine what it looks like for Jesus to drop His truth into my thoughts like ripples in the stream?
→ Picture one of His truths landing gently in your mind; let it ripple through your emotions without forcing anything to change.
What small act of agreement could I practice today—a breath, a prayer, a letting go?
→ Choose one: take a slow walk outside, journal a gratitude, or simply whisper “I trust You” when your mind rushes ahead.
Isaiah 30:15 — “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength.”
John 8:32 — “Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
Romans 4:3 — “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness.”
Zephaniah 3:17 — “He will rejoice over you with singing; He will quiet you with His love.”
Proverbs 3:5–6 — “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”
