Mud & Grace

One of my favorite pastimes is working in the yard—especially the backyard. No matter where we’ve lived, I’ve always treated that space as a kind of sanctuary. I love the whole process: landscaping, planting gardens, and even the simple rhythm of mowing the grass. If you’ve ever visited my home, you already know—my backyard is my oasis.

A few days ago, I decided to lay new sod. If you’ve ever done it, you know it’s no small task. First, the ground has to be broken up and leveled. Then comes the topsoil. Finally, you roll out the sod—each roll weighing close to 50 pounds. And once it’s down, it’s not easy to reposition. So, every section of earth needs to be ready in advance.

I started with a trip to Lowe’s and Mink Turf Farm, returning home with 45 rolls of sod, 30 bags of topsoil—and a few extras I didn’t intend to buy. I’ve never been able to walk into Lowe’s or Home Depot and stick to the list.

I gathered my tools, hung my Bluetooth speaker from a tree limb, and hit shuffle on my summer playlist. I raked the ground, used an old anvil/tiller to break it up, spread the topsoil, and began rolling out the sod.

By 6:00 p.m., the sunny sky darkened. Storm clouds rolled in, and lightening danced across the horizon. I had a service appointment for my SUV the next morning but couldn’t take it in with the trailer still hitched—and it was too heavy to unhook with the weight of the sod. So I rushed, hoping to beat the rain. But I didn’t.

In a matter of minutes, the sky opened. A full-on Kentucky downpour. One of those blinding rainstorms where people pull over because they can’t see the road. And then—hail. I thought to myself, I should just stop and finish tomorrow. But the trailer still needed to be unloaded. So, I kept going. Faster now. Frustrated. Sopping wet.

That’s when I sensed the Lord’s presence—right there in the storm, like a whisper: “What’s the big deal? You’re already soaked and covered in mud. Keep going.” I smiled and said out loud, “Thank You, Jesus.” And I kept working, like it wasn’t even raining.

With each roll of sod, I found myself kneeling in the mud—laughing, talking to Jesus, and sliding the grass into place (which, honestly, made it easier). Drenched from head to toe, I started singing along with the playlist: “I’ve Seen Fire and I’ve Seen Rain,” straight into “Here comes the sun, doo, dun, doo, doo… and I say, it’s all right.” It was perfect.

By 8:00 p.m., I laid the last roll. The rain let up. The clouds parted. And the sun started shining again—it stays up late in central Kentucky. I hadn’t been that muddy since I was a kid. I kicked off my shoes, walked to the edge of the pool, and fell in. 

And in the water, I sensed something special: peace. Deep, genuine, overwhelming peace. A quiet flood of the grace and unmistakable goodness of God.

In those moments, God spoke again—not with anything new, but with old reminders. Why do we panic in life’s storms? That day, I worked through a literal thunderstorm—with joy. Yes, it was messy. Yes, it was risky. But the joy was real. And the lesson was timely.

Storms are inevitable. They bring anxiety, sleepless nights, relational strain, and a restless mind. They rattle our lives and shake our confidence. And they always seem bigger—more overwhelming than they truly are—especially when we forget that God is near, walking with us through it all.

The truth is, the longest, hardest way through a storm is trying to navigate it alone. While the shortest, most peace-filled path, is always found by walking closely with Jesus.

Here’s what I’ve learned—and keep relearning: Most people don’t have a relationship problem; they have a lordship problem. They don’t have a burnout problem; they have an intimacy-with-Jesus problem. They don’t have a family or friendship problem; they have a first-love problem.

That’s not to deny how real the pain and pressure of life can be. It’s simply to say: closeness with Jesus—true intimacy—is the key to peace that surpasses understanding. 

Even in the mud. 

Even in the storm. 

Even when the sky falls. 

Because more often than not, that’s exactly where God meets us.