Tears in the Garden

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*I wrote this essay over a decade ago. Praying and planting seeds has become part of my Good Friday ritual since that time. I highly recommend getting out in your garden if possible. God has so many powerful revelations to teach us through His creation.

Here in Michigan, when I plant peas on Good Friday, they ripen right around the Summer Solstice, the first day of Summer. Remembering the sorrow of the planting day makes the sweetness of the peas on a summer day that much more precious.

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Easter Sunday is coming, friends.

But first, we have to live through Good Friday.

The older I become, the more emotional I am on Good Friday. The older I become, the more overwhelmed I am by the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus. The older I become, the more significance I find in simple things. Like gardening.

Today I went out to the garden to plant the first seeds of the season and talk to God. (We have our best conversations in the garden.) After a bitter, cold spring, the ground finally thawed enough to plant peas. It seemed fitting — a good day to bury seeds that look dead and dormant, but will soon burst forth with new life.

The garden beds were ready and waiting, prepared last fall. After a bit of raking to smooth the soil, I dug shallow furrows and began to place the seeds one by one.

And that's when I found myself with tears streaming down my face, drenching the soil near my hands.

I'm not entirely sure I can explain it.

Maybe it was the cold air, or the quiet, or just the weight of the day.

But kneeling there in the dirt, something in me cracked open.

All the hard and heavy things I'd been carrying… the ways I'd fallen short, the grief I'd been holding, the places in my life that felt broken beyond repair… I laid them down in that furrow, right alongside the seeds.

And then I covered them up.

With each swipe of my hand, the seeds disappeared beneath the soil. And I thought about how that is exactly what Jesus came to do. To take what is broken and heavy and hand it back to us made new.

This ugly, wrinkled, insignificant, dead-looking seed will grow. It will push up through the dark soil and become something strong and alive. It will produce food that nourishes and sustains. Beauty from ashes.

Jesus takes what looks ruined… the broken places, the hard seasons, the parts of our lives that feel beyond saving… and He transforms them into something whole. Something that can bring hope and healing to others.

I left that garden lighter than I arrived. Ready to grow.

Transformation in the garden isn't just for plants. It's for people, too.

Today I shared tears in the garden with my Savior. But Sunday is coming, friends. Today we sit with the sorrow… and in two days, everything changes.

I hope you'll join me.