Return to the Soil

There’s something deeply wrong in the world—and we feel it.

Not just in our bodies, though many of us are tired and aching. Not just in our minds, though most of us are anxious and distracted. The ache runs deeper than that. It's in our souls. A quiet, aching homesickness we can’t quite name.

We call it stress. Or burnout. Or modern life. But I believe it's something older, something more spiritual than clinical.

We are a people made from earth. That’s not poetry. That’s the Word. The Lord formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life. We weren’t just placed on the earth. We were made of it.

And I believe what we’re feeling in this age of disconnection is the pain of being severed from our origin. From the land. From the soil. From what is living and sacred.

We rise in the dark, stare into glowing screens, walk on pavement, wear rubber soles, eat food grown far away by machines we’ll never see, wrapped in plastic, labeled and lifeless. And when it all catches up to us—when we feel depressed or sick or numb—we wonder why.

But how could we not feel broken when we’re so far from the very ground we were made from?

Even farmers—those who should be closest—now ride machines, wear gloves, and rarely touch the earth or the plants they grow. The very ones feeding the world are often disconnected from the life they’re cultivating.

So what hope is there for the rest of us?

Back in 2018, I stumbled across a documentary one night on something called grounding. The idea was simple: the earth carries a healing frequency—something we were designed to live in contact with. And by touching it—skin to soil—it could restore our bodies.

I remember sitting on the edge of the bed afterward, phone in hand, dim blue light casting long shadows on the walls. My legs were tired, my back ached, I wasn’t sleeping well, and I was open—barely—to the possibility that something this strange might work.

So I found an old copper wire in a drawer. I remember unraveling it like I was handling something sacred—clumsy and unsure. I pushed open the window, leaned out into the crisp fall air, and stuck the wire into the soil just below the window ledge. Then I took the indoor end, wrapped it carefully around a long curled up rope of tinfoil, and tucked it under the foot of the bed, beneath the covers.

I felt ridiculous.

As I lay back and pulled the blankets over me, I could hear the tinfoil crinkling faintly like some kind of strange snack hiding under the sheets. I remember thinking, “This is crazy. What am I doing?” I imagined Kacy waking up and asking what that noise was. I imagined explaining it to anyone and how dumb it would sound.

And yet—something in me hoped.

That night… I slept. I don’t just mean I got through the night. I mean I slept. Like my body finally exhaled after holding its breath for years.

There was no tossing, no mind racing through what-ifs, no jolting awake. Just warmth, weight, stillness. I woke up in the rising quiet of the sun and sat there in stunned silence. My whole body felt like it had been reconnected.

It was such a small thing. A wire, some tinfoil, the ground outside. But that silly little rig became a doorway.

Because that night, something sacred happened. I didn’t know it then, but that wire didn’t just plug me into the earth—it began to plug me into the Father.

I ordered a grounding sheet set the next day. I’ve slept grounded every night since.

And I believe that connection—simple, physical, absurd to some—was the first step in my heart softening toward Christ. It returned me to the place I came from. And it whispered of the One who made it all.

“The Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.”
Genesis 2:7

We are not just souls with bodies. We are bodies with purpose. And that purpose is to walk in the garden again.

But not as tourists. As children of the King.

Fast forward to the current chapter of my life, just the other day I found myself in the backyard of a friend’s home, it’s early spring now. There was still a chill in the wind when I was there—one of those Alberta days where the sun is out but it feels like the ground is still holding onto winter.

Their family has a large plot dedicated for gardening, and they want to share it with us. Kacy and I have never gardened before. This is our first time.

I remember walking up to that bed and standing over it. Just looking. The soil was rough and dry on top, but dark and soft underneath. I’m sure there were gardening tools nearby, but something in me said don’t bother looking.

I got down on my knees. Slowly.

Pressed my fingers into the soil.

It clung to my skin. Cold. Damp. Alive. I could smell the richness of it. Something old and familiar even though I’d never really done this before. I pressed deeper with my palms and started breaking it up, turning it gently with my hands.

And I just stopped. Right there.

My hands froze in the soil. My breath caught.

And I thought, “What if I mess this up? What if nothing grows?”

And I whispered out loud without even thinking, “Is this what it means to be human again?”

I wasn’t just touching dirt. I was returning home.

I could feel the ache of my ancestors in that soil. I could feel the part of me that had always been missing start to come back. Not because it was productive. Not because it was efficient. But because it was real.

That moment wasn’t about food. It was about presence. And reverence.

“And the Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it.”
Genesis 2:15

That was our first calling. Not to dominate the world. But to live in it. With it. To walk with the Creator in the cool of the day, tending what He made.

And we’ve traded that inheritance for asphalt, artificial light, late nights and blue screens.

But it’s not too late to return.

This isn’t about becoming farmers or moving off-grid (although that sounds like a fun project). This is about reconnecting, one step at a time, with the real. With what the Lord made.

Try real food—grown by hand, with love. Organic.
You’ll taste the difference. You’ll feel the difference.
Try walking barefoot in the grass, even for five minutes.
Try drinking spring water. Try sleeping on the floor.

You’ll feel strange at first. That’s okay. That’s the separation being healed.

Because when your body connects again with the ground, your spirit starts to remember who made you.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.”
Psalm 19:1

This isn’t just about health. It’s about worship. When you taste a potato that came from your own backyard, you’re not just nourished—you’re in awe.

When you drink water that comes from a living spring, you’re not just hydrated—you’re humbled.

These things are sacraments, if we let them be.

And I believe, truly, that if someone experiences this—just a taste—they will begin to crave more. First the food. Then the water. Then the ground itself. Until they are no longer just living on the earth, but with it.

And then, by grace, they will find the One who formed it.

Because disconnection from nature is not just a physical problem—it’s a spiritual one.
And healing that disconnection can bring people back to Christ.

“The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.”
Psalm 24:1

We belong to Him. And the earth we were made from belongs to Him too.

So maybe the invitation today isn’t to go start a farm.

Maybe it’s just to take your shoes off. To kneel in the soil. To drink water that hasn’t been boiled to death or chemically sanitized and piped through plastic into your tap.

Maybe it’s to remember where you came from.
And to remember who breathed into you the breath of life.

You don’t have to uproot your whole life. Just touch the earth again.

Because when you return to the soil, you’ll find more than peace.

You’ll find the King of Kings waiting to meet you there.

Try it. You might just like it.

When was the last time you touched the earth with your bare hands and remembered who made you?