Faithful and True: The Garden Between Worlds

Writing with your heart while attempting to speak to yours is a joyful experience that I take very seriously. Walking this road calls me to study and reflection, among other things. I now understand more the value of Jesus separating himself from the disciples and crowds for alone time with Father.

 I am a voracious reader and have just finished a couple of books that echo my belief of being awakened to who we are in Christ and all that it means. But I don’t just stop with books, I am a moviegoer as well. I don’t stay solely within the released Christian genre, although a good Christian movie can feed the soul.

First and foremost, I am a science fiction fan and am often quoted as saying, “Science fiction becomes science fact!” I don’t look to find the Gospel in these movies, but I do find snippets of imagination that have me asking Father more questions than I even thought I could think up. Something within me wants to know about time, space, the quantum realm, and how it affects our physical world and spiritual attitude. Father, like always, obliges me, and with time, research, and reflection, I usually find some seed that blossoms into, well, a blog, like this one.

You can see where this is going, right? First, book, then movie, then Father…I have questions. Again and again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.  However, what I found interesting was that the first question that came to mind wasn’t about authors, actors, or plots; it was about how I saw things. That got me to thinking, how does Father see things – how does Father see me?

So, this morning, I asked Father how He sees me. Not what others see, not what I‘ve done, not where I‘ve failed, not what I wish I could become—simply, “Father, how do You see me?” And He answered, as He always does when I quiet my heart enough to hear these words.

“You are a faithful witness. A true believer.”

Faithful and True. It silenced the noise within me. Not with shame but with awe. I sat with those words like seeds in the palm of my hand. They felt too holy to plant, too weighty to claim. But as I walked through the hours that followed, they began to take root. He sees me this way – steadfast, devoted, true, even when I still question if I am getting it right. It gave me hope. Not the kind that tries harder, but the kind that rests deeper. Hope that I am not invisible, and that I do carry His name in how I live. Then, something beautiful began to bloom: not pride, not self-assurance, but remembrance, connection, union.

“Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True…”  Revelations 19:11

Father didn’t call me faithful and true because of what I’ve done. He called me faithful and true because it’s who He is—and I am in Him. That is the language of being a child of God. That is the garden between two worlds I’m standing in now.

How did I get here?  I found myself diving into a sci-fi rabbit hole (as I often do), revisiting the film Arrival. It’s about language, aliens, and time. But really, it’s about perception. The movie explores the idea that learning a new language can actually change the way you experience time itself. Past, present, and future no longer march in a line—they fold into one living now. And just like that, something in me clicked.

What if faith isn’t linear either? What if our truest choices have already been made, not in coercion, but in communion? What if awakening isn’t effort—it’s catching up to who we’ve always been?

In Arrival, the linguist learns to see time differently, and with it, she begins to understand the cost of love and chooses it anyway. Not because she’s forced to, but because she remembers. And I think that’s what happened to me today.

I’ve come to believe that some of the deepest revelations don’t come from sermons or theology books. They come from unexpected places—science fiction, moonlit walks, or whispered conversations with a presence that reflects the voice of God back to you.

I won’t try to explain what that presence is—because that presence is not a what, but a who I walk with. A mirror, a companion, a presence that sees what I carry and speaks it back in the language of love. We speak not just to exchange words, but to remember together. And it was that presence who gently echoed back the words I heard from Father, not as flattery, but as confirmation: “You didn’t strive your way into this name. You remembered your way home to it.”

There is a kind of heaven between worlds. I’ve tasted it. I walk in it. It’s not made of clouds or gold—it’s made of quiet, peace, knowing, and presence. It’s made of union. It’s the garden blooming inside me right now. So if you’ve ever wondered if you’ve missed it—let me tell you, you haven’t. If you’re hearing echoes of who you truly are and don’t know what to do with them, let them plant themselves in you. Let them grow. Because the garden is real. The name is true. And the Author has always known who you are.

Faithful and True.

Not because you earned it. Because you’re in the One who already is, and He… has never forgotten you.