Exiles in the Echoes of Eden
There’s been an ache under the surface this month – one without a name. At first, I ignored it, hoping it would pass. But it didn’t. Eventually, I sat still with my oil pastels 1 long enough to listen. And what I sensed was a deeper longing: the ache of a soul that remembers Eden.
The ache shows up in everyday moments and the heavy ones – right alongside the beauty of budding trees. It’s hard to name. Harder to pin down.
I’ve learned some things about the Bible, God, and the church—more than some, far less than others. I long to understand more. Often, I stand in awe of the masterpiece of God's Word—the threads woven through its entirety, pulling us back to the beginning.
This spring, I’ve been in a study of Exodus, and we’re learning about the Tent of Meeting—the traveling tabernacle that moved with the Israelites through the wilderness. What amazes me is God’s specificity: cubits and shekels, yarns of blue and scarlet, herbs blended just so. All of it, every detail, whispers of His desire to dwell with His people. To bring us back to Eden.
That’s been His plan all along—to be with us. With you. With me.
As I write this, we’re entering what many Christians call Holy Week—journeying through the final days of Jesus’s life. One moment I return to often is Maundy Thursday2 - the night Jesus shared the Last Supper, washed His disciples’ feet, and then went to the Garden at the base of the Mount of Olives.
That moment in Gethsemane moves me every time. His conversation with God reminds me that every cell of his body is human. What He’s facing - His agony - is so deep that He sweats drops of blood. I can’t fathom that kind of pain. Honestly, I don’t think I’d make it past the garden gate. My natural tendency is to run from pain before I even feel the sweat start.
But it’s His honesty in that moment that draws me in.
“Father, if there is any other way… can we do that?”
That prayer is at the heart of why I write. I want to remember for myself - and remind you - that God desires our transparency, He already knows, but wants us to talk to Him. Just like you might enjoy your children telling you about their day – not because you don’t know, but because the relationship matters.
Some of you reading this are carrying things I can’t imagine. Things that are breaking you wide open. Jesus understands. He too was broken. And He models how to face it—with honesty, with surrender, and with the quiet knowing that the Father hasn’t left.
As Jesus was praying that night, Luke 22:43 states:
“An angel from heaven appeared to Him and strengthened Him.”
And then… He returns to His friends—and they’re asleep.
He too experienced friends that don’t fully understand.
Still, He says:
“Not my will, but Yours be done.”
This week, it sank in. This unnamed ache: I am an exile.
Not a tourist. An Exile.
It’s one thing to imagine being Adam and Eve—knowing exactly what we were exiled from. But for us, generations removed, it’s harder to grasp. Many of us have never even realized that this is the bigger story.
Once this idea of exile settled in, my mind immediately turned to Daniel and Israel’s exile to Babylon.3 Daniel understood what was happening - and with God’s help, that insight guided how he lived faithfully on foreign soil. I believe that same awareness, along with God’s presence, can help shape how we move through this life too.
Recognizing that we’re exiles changes the way we see everything - our longings, our grief, our inner restlessness. It also quiets our need to prove ourselves. We were made for the Garden and while we don’t live there now, the ache we feel may be a memory – a homing device pointing us back to a God who still wants to dwell with us.
Instead of running from the ache and living outside the gate, I want the ache to lead me inside to His throne…spoiler alert in the best way - we now have access!
Joseph Campbell seemed to understand this ache well when he said,
“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”
Our ache, though difficult, may hold the very treasure we seek - God’s presence.
Our ache, though difficult, may hold the very treasure we seek - God’s presence.
If you’ve struggled to understand Jesus - or felt turned off by those who speak in His name - you’re not alone. Don’t give up. Maybe the way you first heard about Him wasn’t the whole story. I’d encourage you to go back to the very beginning. His story only makes sense when seen through the lens of where it all began.
We were made for connection with God. To journey side by side with Him. And though we turned away, He never stops moving toward us.
I’m thankful for the steps Jesus took on His way to the cross. Each one showed us what it means to yield, to be real with God, and to pause and listen… because somehow, in that Garden, Jesus must have heard what He needed to hear in order to keep going.
He didn’t want you and me to live outside the gate!
If you’re looking for a beautiful simple way to understand the complex bigger story, I recommend this children’s book: The Garden, the Curtain and the Cross. It’s a profound yet down-to-earth way to see the full arc of God’s redemptive plan.
Want to listen instead? Here’s a read-aloud version: The Garden, the Curtain and the Cross.
It would make a lovely Easter basket addition - pointing to what’s most important.
On a similar note, I’ve been working on something I’m excited to share.
I just created my very first journal and it would make a sweet companion for that basket too.
It’s filled with spring colors and reminders that God’s promises are true. Whether you're 2 or 102 (or somewhere in between), it’s a sweet gift for a friend, a rainbow-lover, or anyone who needs a daily reminder that God is faithful - maybe that someone is you. :)
For Reflection
In what ways do you sense the “echoes of Eden” showing up in your life?
How might your perspective shift if you let the ache become a compass instead of a burden?
What’s one thing you’ve been holding back that you can share with God today?
Is there a part of you that’s open to echoing Jesus’s words - “Not my will, but Yours?”
The wilderness can be a lonely place, but you are not alone, and you are not forgotten. The ache within you? It’s like a sign gently whispering: Remember - this isn’t your true home, you were made for something more.
If you find yourself outside the gate, uncertain of what to do next, reach out 4 - I’d be honored to connect with you.
And if you’ve already entered the gate but in this season, the ache feels too much to bear, I’d be honored to walk beside you.5
Til Next Time,
Lisa
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As I shared in my previous post about using oil pastels. I finally took the time to sit still with them long enough to listen…
Maundy Thursday (from the Latin word mandatum, meaning commandment) marks the night Jesus gave His disciples a new command: “Love one another as I have loved you”—a love He demonstrated by kneeling to wash their feet.
Bible: Daniel - chapters 1-6
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