The Garden of Eden: A Necessary Departure

“The struggles I'm facing / The chances I'm taking / Sometimes might knock me down, but / No, I'm not breaking”

The Garden of Eden is more than a metaphor.

It holds layers of meaning—literal and symbolic. Whether Eden was a physical garden on the earth, or a state of being (or both), its purpose was never about keeping us locked away in comfort. It was about preparing us for the journey of becoming.

On one level, Eden represents the psychological struggle—painful, but essential—of leaving behind the safety and comfort of a parent’s care. It mirrors the transitions we all face: the moment we leave home, step out of childhood, or part ways with a simpler, more protected existence. These shifts are not rejections of safety—they are invitations to grow. And every loving parent desires growth for their child.

The idea that God is cruel for sending us into a dark and difficult world simply doesn’t hold up. No good parent would keep a child locked away in a bedroom out of fear for what lies beyond the door. No truly loving parent would insist the world is too dangerous to engage with, too broken to be worth the risk. If they did, we wouldn’t call that love—we’d call it control.

Yes, life is risky. But it’s also rich with beauty, meaning, and transformation.... We go to school, pursue dreams, fall in love, build families. Each step opens us to uncertainty, and yes, to heartache. But without those experiences, we remain unfinished. We do not grow by hiding—we grow by living.

Experience is not incidental. It is the point. The purpose. We are here to live, to stumble and rise again, to stretch beyond who we were. To become.

The Covenant of Christ says it plainly:

“Adam fell for people to exist, and we exist to experience joy.” (2 Nephi 1:10)

The Fall was not a mistake—it was a deliberate, vital part of God’s plan. Without it, we could not learn or grow. We could not know joy without first knowing sorrow.

From the Old Covenants ,

“Inasmuch as your children are conceived in sin, even so, when they begin to grow up, sin conceives in their hearts. And they taste the bitter that they may know to prize the good, and it is given unto them to know good from evil; wherefore, they are agents unto themselves.” (Genesis 4:8)

Our Heavenly Parents are not interested in keeping us ignorant. They are invested in our transformation. They knew we would face darkness. They knew sorrow and even death would be part of our story. But They also knew what that journey would shape us into. Through experience, we could become like Them.

As the Covenant of Christ testifies:

“How great is the mercy of our God, the Holy One of Israel! He sets His holy ones free from that awful monster: the accuser and death and hell, and that fiery lake that burns like lava that is endless torment. How great is the holiness of our God! He knows all things—there’s nothing that He doesn’t know. And He comes into the world in order to save all mankind, if they choose to listen to His voice. He suffers the pains of all mankind, yes, the pains of every living being—men, women, and children—all who belong to the family of Adam.”  (2Nephi 6:7)

Christ’s atonement ensures that this world of risk and pain is not the end of the story—but the beginning of glory.

We were never meant to remain in the Garden. The Fall was not a failure; it was a beginning—a necessary departure, a gate to a world where we learn to walk not just toward survival, but toward becoming. And ultimately, we walk back to Them—not merely as children, but as heirs.


From Theoretical to Personal

This isn’t just theory—it’s deeply personal. The Lord has been teaching me, again and again, that all things work together for good (Romans 1:5). Not just the beautiful moments. Not just the obvious blessings. All things. Even the painful. Even the mundane. Even the heartbreak that overstays its welcome.

For a long time, I looked for the greener grass, the brighter day. I hoped for relief, for escape, for a break! But more and more, I’ve come to see that what He wants for me is not escape—it’s understanding. He wants me to learn from whatever circumstance I’m in. This life is painful. It is incredibly hard. Yes, there are flashes of joy—but as we all know, it is a “lone and dreary world.”

And yet—it is exactly where He wants us.


Radical Acceptance: Sacred Ground

Radical acceptance is a phrase the Lord has etched deeply into my mind. It means surrendering to reality—not in resignation, but in trust. It’s not about giving up on change, but recognizing that some trials are not meant to be fixed, only faced. Not everything is ours to control—but all of it is sacred.

These trials are not just things to endure. They are sacred ground.

We are not only meant to accept them—we are meant to be grateful for them. To seek the Lord’s voice in them. To search the shadows for flickers of light, and hold fast to every glimmer. Because every flicker is a lesson. Every flame, a gift. Every hardship, an invitation to become more like our Heavenly Parents.

And perhaps no words capture that tension better than this older version of the Serenity Prayer. I know there are more modern adaptations, but this one has stayed with me—its cadence feels more raw, more honest, more reflective of real, soul-level wrestling:

“Oh, God, give us courage to change what must be altered, serenity to accept what can not be helped, and insight to know the one from the other.”
—Reinhold Niebuhr

This is the soul of Eden’s departure. Courage. Serenity. Insight. These are not just lofty virtues—they are survival skills for the journey out of innocence and into wisdom.


The Path Out of Eden

This is the path out of Eden. Not a punishment, but a passage. A lone and dreary world—but one filled with the presence of God, if we are willing to see.

Eden wasn’t a paradise we lost—it was a starting point we were meant to leave. We knew we had to step beyond its safety, into the unknown, where growth and becoming await. The lyrics remind us: struggle, risk, and even falling are not breaking us—they’re shaping us. Eden was never the destination. It was the first step of the climb.



Share your thoughts, stories, or questions in the comments.

Let’s learn from one another—fellow travelers on the mountain.

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