When the Garden Feels Lonely

(and how truth turns the lights back on)

There’s a kind of loneliness that doesn’t come from being alone.
It comes from being un-rooted from the truth.

That was the loneliness the Garden went through.
A quiet kind — the kind that arrives when little lies start floating through the air like bad seeds:
“Your color doesn’t matter.”
“No one notices your scent.”
“You used to be prettier.”

Small sentences, yes — but persistent ones.
And little by little, they dimmed something inside the flowers.

It wasn’t just sadness.
It was a kind of emotional un-belonging.
As if the flowers had forgotten who they were,
and started becoming distorted versions of themselves.

That’s the power of lies:
they take up too much room.
And when they take up too much room… they reshape everything.

But if lies have the power to darken,
truth has the power to illuminate.

Truth doesn’t ask you to perform.
It doesn’t demand masks.
It doesn’t need you to fit into anyone else’s expectations.

Truth simply says:
“You are loved as you are.”
And then it whispers, in the voice of Psalm 139:
“You were wonderfully made.”

When that truth sinks into the soil of your soul, something beautiful happens:
the flowers remember their original colors,
they remember the fragrance they carry,
they remember they belong to the Garden — and always did.

Lies distort.
Truth rebuilds.

And when the Garden finally heard the right truth,
the loneliness began to fade.
Not because someone new arrived from the outside,
but because the light came back from within.

So if you feel a little like that Garden on its gray days,
do something simple and sacred:
seek the truth that reminds you who you are.
The truth that restores.
The truth that steadies.
The truth that says:
“You were wonderfully made.”

And offer that same reminder to the children around you —
so they grow up confident in their worth
long before the world tries to convince them otherwise.

Because in the end,
no darkness survives when truth decides to turn the lights on.