The moon in the garden

Ihad just gotten home from a long day of work and spent a few hours at the NICU with our son. I was standing in the grassy area in the front of our apartment walking our dog and contemplating the season of life we were in. When we moved to Louisville, we had no clue what was coming our way. We knew it would be hard being in a new city far from any friends or family, but we never dreamed we would add having our son be born three months early to our plate.

With the jingling of a dog tag as my soundtrack, I began to pray. I didn’t really question God’s plan from a place of doubt, but more from a place of expectancy.

I asked Him why He had chosen to let this happen to us; I wondered why He had given us such a burden to carry.

I was a little scared, but mostly exhausted as I walked under a clear sky with a full, bright moon lighting my path across the apartment complex, and as I paused to look up at the sky a thought crossed my mind that I had never had before.

Here I was burdened by the cross I had been given to carry, praying to God about it, and the light by which I was doing that was the exact same light that was shining on Jesus’s face in the garden of Gethsemane.

While His cross was literal and far more burdensome than mine, I found great comfort in the fact that He had stood under the same moon all those years before asking that the cup pass Him by and immediately submitting to God’s wonderful plan for not only His life, but all of creation.

That’s been more than 10 years ago, and I haven’t looked at the moon the same ever since. From time to time, I’ll smile up at it, remembering the moment me and the moon shared that night, and cherishing the night Jesus stood under it as He gave Himself over to what was to come.