LANDBACK BOTANICALS SERIES: Why The Land Matters

When I was a child, I had a dream that has remained vivid throughout my adult years.

I was walking through a field of sunflowers—their stems towering over my head, flowers golden, radiant under the sun. My father and several other adults were deep in conversation nearby, their voices drifting in the warm air. I wandered deeper into the field until I saw something that made me stop.

A frail, old woman was crawling slowly along the ground. Her skin was dark—almost blue— it showed deep cracks, very similar to parched earth after a long drought. Her white hair was slightly disheveled, flowing past her shoulders and touching the earth. As she crawled, she murmured softly in a language I couldn’t understand.

At first, I recoiled from her, afraid of her strange behaviour. But as I watched her struggle, something in me stirred with compassion. I knelt down, lifted her head into my lap. She didn't seem to be aware of me. I held her as she continued to murmur words I couldn't understand. Her skin that appeared dry and broken moments before, felt indescribably soft. I could feel her weakness in the limpness of her hands as I held them and I began to weep.

The adults around me kept talking, unaware of her suffering. I called to them, but no one noticed the two of us kneeling on the earth. Their conversation continued. I woke up with a tightness in my chest and tears in my eyes as I recalled the woman's suffering.

Over the years, I’ve come to believe this dream was not simply the overactive imagination of a child but a vision—a message. That old woman was not a stranger. She was the Earth herself: weary and wounded.

Her cracked skin was the soil, thirsty for rain. Her whispering voice may have been the wind carrying stories and a language we have forgotten. Her tears were the rivers, and her frailty, the forests felled without thought. And the adults—busy, distracted, talking among themselves—were us.

We have walked past the Earth’s pain for too long.

The Earth as a Living Witness

The Bible does not describe the earth as a mere backdrop to human history. It is a participant in God’s story—a witness to covenant, a teacher, a mourner, and ultimately, a vessel of renewal.

We are told that even the soil has memory. In Genesis, Abel’s blood cries out from the ground (Genesis 4:10). In Job, we are told, “Ask the beasts, and they will teach you; and the birds of the air, and they will tell you... or speak to the earth, and it will teach you” (Job 12:7–8).

Many times, I have been told that speaking to the Earth is not something Christians do. But God Himself spoke to the earth in Genesis, providing clear instructions on what to grow in order to sustain life. We see that it carries the blood of those who are victims of injustice. Moreover, God instructs Job to speak to the earth because we can learn from it. Yet, the Western worldview sees the Earth as inanimate and something we can own or extract from. Despite God's purpose and design for the Earth, this understanding and relationship to earth has shifted.

The Bible shows us throughout the Old and New Testament that Creation is not passive. The earth responds to our faithfulness and our sin—in fact, the earth is called to witness God’s covenants:

“I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live.”— Deuteronomy 30:19

While the world debates the impact of human 'advancement' on the earth, I am reminded of the passage:

“The earth mourns and fades away... because they have broken the everlasting covenant” (Isaiah 24:4–6)

Here Isaiah reminds us that environmental collapse is not only a scientific crisis but a spiritual one. Similarly, Paul writes in the New Testament that “the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time” (Romans 8:22). Creation groans because it awaits our redemption—the healing of our relationship with God and with the world He made.

If we believe that “the earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it” (Psalm 24:1), then her pain must matter to us. We cannot separate our worship of the Creator from our care for His creation. We were called to tend and keep the garden (Genesis 2:15). Stewardship is not a political stance; it is an act of love, obedience, and repentance. When we pollute, overconsume, or turn a blind eye to environmental harm, we are not only harming ecosystems—we are breaking covenant. The earth’s cry is the cry of a world waiting for the children of God to act justly again.

To kneel beside creation—to restore rivers, replant forests, and protect the creatures that share this world—is to kneel beside the heart of God Himself.

Heavenly Creator,

Open our eyes to the wounds of the world we call home. Teach us to see creation not as a resource, but as part of your design for relationship.

Forgive our indifference to creation and renew our hearts with compassion. Fill us with love for the world you created, and all that is in it.

May we be healers of the soil, protectors of life, and keepers of covenant.

In Jesus' name, Amen.