Poet and author John O'Donahue describes our suffering as time in the "garden of pain," a place in which our time is "not wasted or for naught."

This interior space of pain is not the wasteland we typically imagine, not a barren, arid plot of sun-scorched dust, but a garden where things grow, where life sprouts from the rich, loamy soil of loss and confusion, self-doubt and tears. Contrary to what we might expect, here rare flowers bloom and unexpected fruit ripens.

Text and image © 2010 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.