For this Easter week, I once again offer you a blog from an incredible writer who posts regularly on Facebook. She is Farmer Girl, a young dairy farmer in northern Washington state. This blog is amazing and insightfully written from a different perspective than we are usually offered. I only wish I had her writing talent! Enjoy! Her link is at the bottom in case you wish to follow her.
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I did not begin that day in violence. I have learned restraint over the centuries. I have held the weight of empires collapsing without so much as a shiver. I have watched men pound nails, raise crosses, gamble for garments, and I stayed still beneath it all. Not because it did not matter, but because sometimes obedience looks like holding steady while heaven writes something you do not yet understand.
But there is a sound I cannot ignore.
It is not the hammer. I have heard that before. It is not the weeping. I have absorbed oceans of that. It is the moment when the breath of the One who spoke me into existence is drawn in, ragged and torn, and then released with a finality that echoes deeper than fault lines. When He cried out and gave up His spirit, something in creation itself recognized it before the soldiers did, before the crowd did, before the sky even finished going dark.
And I could not hold still.
I shook.
Not in chaos, but in recognition. The kind that runs through bone and bedrock and says, This matters. The rocks split not because they were angry, but because they could not contain what they were witnessing. The ground beneath the cross had been asked to carry blood before, but never like this. This was innocent blood. This was covenant blood. This was the blood of the One who had knelt down at the beginning and formed man from my dust, now soaking back into me as if to say, I am not finished with what I made.
You think earthquakes are about destruction. Sometimes they are about revelation.
Graves opened that day. Did you catch that? The very places meant to hold the dead began to loosen their grip, as if death itself felt its authority slipping. I felt it too. The old curse spoken over me in Eden, that I would produce thorns and swallow bodies and bear the weight of sin, met its answer in that moment. The One hanging above me wore those thorns. He took the weight. And when He breathed His last, it was not defeat settling in. It was something breaking loose.
And long before that day, He had said it Himself. That if people kept silent, the stones would cry out. I had heard those words. We all had. The hills, the dust, the stubborn little rocks people kick out of their way without thinking twice. We remembered. So when that moment came, when the Lamb was slain and the sky went dark and the world held its breath…we did not wait for permission.
We cried out.
Not with voices like yours, but with splitting stone and trembling ground and graves giving up what they thought they could keep. That was our voice. That was creation saying what some men still would not. This is the Son of God.
Even the soldiers said it out loud eventually. Took them long enough.
I shook because silence would have been a lie.
And maybe that is what I would tell you now, if you are standing on ground that feels like it is giving way under grief or confusion or loss. The moment that looked like everything was ending was actually the moment everything was being paid for. The ground did not shake because hope was gone. The ground shook because heaven had just done something so final, so costly, so complete, that creation itself responded.
I have carried a lot of endings.
That was not one of them.
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Farmer Girl
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