Short story help
Greetings all,
I need some help from those who like a good story. The sermon on Sunday, combined with my current ‘Christian Living’ book, inspired this short piece of writing. Before I do anything ‘official’ with my story, I wanted opinions on what was good, what needs work, and what parts I used too MUCH detail. (And if it was theologically sound too, lol)
Once, there was a Master Gardner who owned a great plantation. He appointed a young woman to tend a special garden. It was a place of order and beauty, which she nurtured and grew since childhood. It was wonderful for pleasant walks, the scent of flowers and fruits wafting in the wind. In the center was a fountain, full of clear and sweet water. Such a spring was scarce and precious in that country.
This garden, however, was barred. Locked and sealed, only the woman could enter it. Her family gave her instructions on how to tend the life there, and how to preserve it. The Master Gardner also told her that such a secret and sacred space should be shared with only the most trusted of all friends. One person. And, of course, the Master Gardner and His Son.
As the woman dug her hands into the soft earth, she dreamed of that special friend. One who could work the flower beds beside her, dirty and sweating, and then both stand back and watch their labors bloom. To stand by the fountain, and listen to the melodious trickle sing to them. And to simply walk around the garden, admiring the preserved beauty there. Many men wanted that distinction. They would crowd around the gate, trying to peer in, wanting to follow the woman into the scared space.
One of these men caught her eye. He offered her sweet promises of new plants for her garden and endless moonlit walks around her garden, and his own. She so desperately wanted someone to praise the gorgeous scene she had been keeping, appreciate and value it, and stay with her there. So late one night, she opened the gate and let him in. And then another night. And another. And it was good for a time…but he never stayed. One walk around the garden, and he would take his leave. He never intended to stay. Eventually, she locked the gate against him. But then she discovered that after every midnight stroll, he had picked a flower and taken it with him.
And for years afterward, other men made similar promises that made her open the gate. But once inside, they too took a walk, examined her handiwork, and then left. They did not stay to help the plants grow. And they always took a flower with them after the visit. And some did worse than that. One man was indifferent to her as he walked, ignoring every attempt at conversation. Another had snuck inside the gate before she knew how close he was. And another came into the garden drunk and vile, and relieved himself in the bushes.
The woman looked around the ruins of the garden’s former glory, and wept bitter, lonely tears. Many men had come, telling her of long recurring days of conversation walks, digging out weeds, and growing new life. There was so little fruit and flowers now, and many dirt beds were bare.
She cried out to the Master Gardner, asking for forgiveness and aid. He heard her requests, and sent His Son to revitalize the garden. He came in with new seeds, new water, new fertilizer, and new stonework for the fountain. He was on His hands and knees, pulling out all the dead roots, all the ugly remains, and planting new blooms. And the woman was right there beside Him, pruning and cultivating. The Son came by every day. They would walk around the garden and fountain, enjoying each other, having wonderful discussions and debates.
The garden came back. Different, yes, than it was originally. But also more full of life and variety than she dared dream.
One day another man was walking around the enclosed garden. This one was different. He simply wanted to talk with the woman through the garden bars, not try to find a way in. He came by many times, walking her home from the garden as she left, interested in her life outside of the garden. The woman discussed this new man with the Son. He winked, and gave approval. So did her family. The day came when the man promised the woman free access to his own entrusted garden, and only her and the Son could enter. She did the same.
On the first day the man came to see her garden and walk with her, she was nervous and breathless…and also slightly ashamed. There were still patches of barrenness, where plants did not grow quite right after all the trampling and plucking. Then the man arrived with a sack on his back, cheerfully chatting with the Son. They both entered, and she had an amazing time showing them each and every flower, every scent, every color, every sound, every proud work of her hands.
Then they came to one of those rough flowerbeds. She tried to hurry on by, but them man called her to wait. He opened the sack, and the Son lifted out pots of fresh flowers. The man said, “My garden is yours, and yours is mine. These are plants from my own hands, my own sweat and blood. I want to grow them, right here. Together with the Son’s aid, this can be gorgeous again.”
And for the rest of her days, the woman had a garden full of great life, with the man and the Son adding new blooms constantly. And always, the Son promised He would take the two of them on a journey through His Garden on an everlasting walk.
Arjayen
I need some help from those who like a good story. The sermon on Sunday, combined with my current ‘Christian Living’ book, inspired this short piece of writing. Before I do anything ‘official’ with my story, I wanted opinions on what was good, what needs work, and what parts I used too MUCH detail. (And if it was theologically sound too, lol)
Once, there was a Master Gardner who owned a great plantation. He appointed a young woman to tend a special garden. It was a place of order and beauty, which she nurtured and grew since childhood. It was wonderful for pleasant walks, the scent of flowers and fruits wafting in the wind. In the center was a fountain, full of clear and sweet water. Such a spring was scarce and precious in that country.
This garden, however, was barred. Locked and sealed, only the woman could enter it. Her family gave her instructions on how to tend the life there, and how to preserve it. The Master Gardner also told her that such a secret and sacred space should be shared with only the most trusted of all friends. One person. And, of course, the Master Gardner and His Son.
As the woman dug her hands into the soft earth, she dreamed of that special friend. One who could work the flower beds beside her, dirty and sweating, and then both stand back and watch their labors bloom. To stand by the fountain, and listen to the melodious trickle sing to them. And to simply walk around the garden, admiring the preserved beauty there. Many men wanted that distinction. They would crowd around the gate, trying to peer in, wanting to follow the woman into the scared space.
One of these men caught her eye. He offered her sweet promises of new plants for her garden and endless moonlit walks around her garden, and his own. She so desperately wanted someone to praise the gorgeous scene she had been keeping, appreciate and value it, and stay with her there. So late one night, she opened the gate and let him in. And then another night. And another. And it was good for a time…but he never stayed. One walk around the garden, and he would take his leave. He never intended to stay. Eventually, she locked the gate against him. But then she discovered that after every midnight stroll, he had picked a flower and taken it with him.
And for years afterward, other men made similar promises that made her open the gate. But once inside, they too took a walk, examined her handiwork, and then left. They did not stay to help the plants grow. And they always took a flower with them after the visit. And some did worse than that. One man was indifferent to her as he walked, ignoring every attempt at conversation. Another had snuck inside the gate before she knew how close he was. And another came into the garden drunk and vile, and relieved himself in the bushes.
The woman looked around the ruins of the garden’s former glory, and wept bitter, lonely tears. Many men had come, telling her of long recurring days of conversation walks, digging out weeds, and growing new life. There was so little fruit and flowers now, and many dirt beds were bare.
She cried out to the Master Gardner, asking for forgiveness and aid. He heard her requests, and sent His Son to revitalize the garden. He came in with new seeds, new water, new fertilizer, and new stonework for the fountain. He was on His hands and knees, pulling out all the dead roots, all the ugly remains, and planting new blooms. And the woman was right there beside Him, pruning and cultivating. The Son came by every day. They would walk around the garden and fountain, enjoying each other, having wonderful discussions and debates.
The garden came back. Different, yes, than it was originally. But also more full of life and variety than she dared dream.
One day another man was walking around the enclosed garden. This one was different. He simply wanted to talk with the woman through the garden bars, not try to find a way in. He came by many times, walking her home from the garden as she left, interested in her life outside of the garden. The woman discussed this new man with the Son. He winked, and gave approval. So did her family. The day came when the man promised the woman free access to his own entrusted garden, and only her and the Son could enter. She did the same.
On the first day the man came to see her garden and walk with her, she was nervous and breathless…and also slightly ashamed. There were still patches of barrenness, where plants did not grow quite right after all the trampling and plucking. Then the man arrived with a sack on his back, cheerfully chatting with the Son. They both entered, and she had an amazing time showing them each and every flower, every scent, every color, every sound, every proud work of her hands.
Then they came to one of those rough flowerbeds. She tried to hurry on by, but them man called her to wait. He opened the sack, and the Son lifted out pots of fresh flowers. The man said, “My garden is yours, and yours is mine. These are plants from my own hands, my own sweat and blood. I want to grow them, right here. Together with the Son’s aid, this can be gorgeous again.”
And for the rest of her days, the woman had a garden full of great life, with the man and the Son adding new blooms constantly. And always, the Son promised He would take the two of them on a journey through His Garden on an everlasting walk.
Arjayen