It’s early. Like, 4:30 a.m. early. I know it’s not random — I have been summoned.

It’s been a while since The Boss got me up like this.
He’s been working with me differently lately. But this morning, it was clear as a bell in my spirit:

“Give the garden away.”

Now, at first, my brain went straight to the garden — like Eden, the Fall, salvation, all of it.

Give the story away.
Give the gospel away.
Okay, got it, Lord.

But before I could even nod back off, I saw again that orchard He showed me on Sunday in church. It was so beautiful I cried right there in the pew. The kind of vision that makes you whisper, “I don’t deserve this.”
And I knew right then — this morning’s word was connected to that orchard.

Then (because He always layers His messages), I remembered the show we’d watched last night — the first episode of the new season of Watson. There was this woman with dementia and other symptoms with a son she’d given up a few years before she had her daughter, Long story short: he ends up giving her part of his liver to save her life.

But here’s the kicker — he realizes she’d been in his shop every single day saying, “Good morning, young man,” and he’d never known she was his mother.

She had loved him faithfully, quietly, consistently, just like The Boss does with us.

And when he realized it, he didn’t just give her his liver — he gave her his life. He brought his wife, his three kids, his whole world into hers.
That’s multiplication. That’s restoration. That’s what giving the garden away looks like.

“I’d give everything away anyway, Lord, without you telling me when, where and who to give.”
And I felt Him smile. Not with words, but that knowing.

Because He’s not asking me to give away what’s mine.
He’s reminding me that none of it ever was.

Every seed. Every story. Every orchard.
All His.

And the only thing special about me?
How He’s loved me.
How He keeps showing up at 4:30 a.m. to remind me:
the fruit isn’t for keeping.

It’s for giving.

⸻

And maybe that’s part of what He meant too.
Because both my Fathers appreciate attention to detail.

My earthly dad — Oszczakiewicz — taught me that details matter.
The way you sign your name, the way you show up, the way you finish something you start.
And my Heavenly Father — well, He’s been rewriting the details ever since.

It hit me this morning, sitting in that still darkness:
sixteen years my dad’s been gone from this world,
and somehow, every year since,
Jesus has drawn me in closer.
Not in loud ways — in quiet ones.
Little nudges. Little whispers.
Like this one: “Give the garden away.”

I think maybe the garden was never the point.
Maybe it’s the giving.
Maybe that’s the detail The Boss wanted me to notice.