I love springtime in the garden. This dirt, the same soil that God used to form the first human being, nestles seeds in its warm depths. A miracle happens, and life seems to spring from nothing, as if God speaks these fresh sprouts into existence, just as He did at the beginning of time. Leaves push up to the sun and exhale. This is where I can meet with God. And why not? It all began in a garden, it all fell apart in a garden, and it was all set right in a garden once again. 

The first woman walked in the garden with God, and everything was perfect. She basked in His glory, laughed in His presence, and allowed the lift and fall of His voice to wash over her. She was fully seen, known, and loved. She shared an intimate relationship with the Creator of the universe and of her very soul. 

And yet, she wanted more. There was only one rule in the Garden: do not eat the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. That is all. She looked at the forbidden fruit. She longed to taste it. When the serpent told her that it would make her as wise as God, she yearned to know what He knew, to have the authority that He held. She took a bite, and the world shattered. 

Her eyes were opened to things she never knew before. Before she had known the Good, but now she also knew Evil. The result of her disobedience was a curse that she would experience pain in childbearing and have to leave the garden paradise, never to return. 

Before the curse the woman was nameless, but immediately after she received the name “Eve,” the mother of all the living. Not only did this curse affect her, it defined her. It was her very name. She was still seen, known, and loved, but the intimate relationship with God was severed. God had not changed the rules, He had simply upheld them in justice. 

As we look at the world around us, it is far from the Eden that God created. We still suffer under Eve’s curse, but the pain of childbearing goes far beyond the contractions of labor. As mothers, we experience pain in every stage of bearing our children into the world. 

We allow the role of motherhood to rule us and define us, become our name. 

We hurt when our children hurt. 

We drown in guilt when our children stray from God. 

We long for children, but struggle to conceive. 

When we have to bury a child or never get to meet one that we carry inside, it is devastating.

Yes, the pain of bearing children into this cursed world is excruciating.  

And yet, that is not the end of this story. Even though the punishment for sin was just, we have a God who is not only just, but also gracious. He loved us too much to leave us in our sin. You see, He is a parent too, and we are His beloved daughters. Surpassing our own pain as mothers, He couldn’t bear the separation from His precious children. Like a parent, He would do anything in His power to ease our suffering and draw us back to Him. 

And so, He sent His own Son, out of the safety and splendor of heaven, down onto this cursed planet. Jesus knew the cost of His decision. He knew how the future would play out. He knew what He was signing up for, and He came anyway. He lived a life of pain, suffering, and loneliness. He experienced first-hand the curse of sin without ever committing the crime to deserve it. He walked in our separation from God, and mourned the distance. 

In a garden, Jesus sweated blood in anticipation of His coming trials. He asked if there could be any other way to reverse this curse. There was none. 

And so, Jesus took on the ultimate price of our disobedience. He allowed Himself to be killed by the very ones that He came to reunite to His Father. What incredible love! The curtain in the temple was torn, and the separation between God and humanity was swallowed up in the grave. Through Jesus, we have access to the intimate relationship with God that was lost in the garden so long ago. 

Mary was the first one to see the Savior on Easter morning. She had experienced a life entangled in the curse. Darkness consumed her, and demons possessed her body until Jesus called them out. She had intimate knowledge of Evil and when she met Jesus, she was wrenched from it and released into the Good. His death was unbearable.

Walking through the garden to the tomb enshrouded in grief, she found the grave was empty. When Mary first saw the risen Christ, she mistook Him for the gardener. 

Or was it a mistake? 

Isn’t He the one present at the beginning of creation and the one who brings all creation back into its original order?

Is it not His blood that soaks into the soil of the garden and redeems all that we have shattered?

Isn’t He cultivating the soil of our hearts, planting seeds of hope and joy deep in our souls, and bringing forth something new from ground that was once hard with frost?

Is it not His still small voice that allows the Fruit of the Spirit to flourish in lives once claimed by the curse?

While she was lost in her grief, Mary did not recognize Jesus, until he said her name. 

“Mary.” 

Just one word. She ran and fell at His feet.

In the same way that Eve received her name while in a cursed state, Jesus fully sees, knows, and loves Mary just as she is, curse and all. We are no different. We share in the curse, but we also share in the love of Jesus and His Father. When Jesus looks at us, we are fully seen, known, and loved. He speaks our name. Our pain as mothers no longer defines us. His blood reaps joy in fields where we have sowed seeds of grief.

Yes, this world can be painful, but there is also joy in salvation, hope in eternity, and peace in the presence of Jesus. The victory of Easter redeems the pain of motherhood and makes it one of life’s most rewarding roles. 

When we hurt, Jesus collects our tears. 

When our children stray from God, He moves heaven and earth to call them back. 

When dreams of motherhood are unfulfilled, God’s love and promises are unchanging. 

When we lose a child, we release that precious life into the arms of Jesus until we are reunited again. 

We are no longer defined by our role as mother, but rather by our identity as His child.

This world is broken, but it is being made new. Just as the spring bulbs push fresh green shoots out the decomposing leaves fallen in winter, Jesus is bringing forth new blessings out of each season’s loss. He is taking what was once a curse and redeeming it to be an incredible blessing. 

I love the garden in spring. God is always waiting there to meet with me. If I listen carefully, I can hear Him whisper my name. 

Beloved. Forgiven. Redeemed.

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