A while back, a good friend of mine died from cancer. A few days before his death, I visited him in the hospital, where he shared a dream with me—one that has stayed with me and continues to shape how I understand fear and faith.
In his dream, he saw Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying. Jesus was there because He knew what was coming. He knew betrayal was near. He knew soldiers would soon seize Him, bind Him, mock Him, and strike Him. He knew the whips, the crown of thorns, the nails, and the cross all awaited Him. As a man, He felt the full weight of that knowledge. His body recoiled at the pain He knew He would endure. His heart carried the sorrow of being abandoned by those He loved. His soul bore the burden of taking on the sin of others. The garden was where His humanity fully faced the cost of obedience.
As Jesus prayed, He stopped, looked at my friend, and said, “Would you join Me in prayer?” My friend, sensing the holiness and gravity of the moment, replied, “I am not holy enough to be in this place with You.” Jesus did not argue with him. Instead, He asked a question that went beyond healing and into the heart of faith: “What if I do not heal you?”
That question revealed what the garden was really about. Jesus was not praying to escape suffering; He was preparing His heart to endure it. In the garden, His flesh felt fear and dread, but His spirit chose surrender. He was able to bear what was coming because He knew what lay beyond it. He knew that on the other side of the pain was redemption—freedom for the lost, forgiveness for sinners, and life for many. The suffering was real, but it was not meaningless. Love, not force, carried Him forward.
In the dream, my friend chose to step into the garden. He did not step in with certainty or strength, but with trust. Faith was no longer defined by healing or outcomes. Faith meant choosing to remain with Jesus, even when the cost was unknown.
As I reflect on that dream, I realize how much I am still learning. I have often believed, without admitting it, that faith should protect me from the hardest valleys. But Jesus did not avoid the valley. He entered it fully aware of what awaited Him, because He could see beyond it. Prayer did not remove the suffering; it anchored Him to the purpose on the other side of it.
Fear enters my life in much the same way—through the pull of the flesh toward comfort, control, and escape. Like Jesus, I want the pain to pass. But the garden teaches me that fear loosens its grip when I lift my eyes beyond the moment. When suffering is seen only for what it costs, it overwhelms us. When it is seen in light of what God is accomplishing, it can be endured.
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”
Jesus left the garden knowing His body would be broken, yet His spirit was settled. He rose to meet the soldiers because He knew the cross was not the end of the story. He could bear the pain because He knew what waited on the other side—resurrection, restoration, and redemption accomplished.
I am learning that when fear rises, I must go to my garden and pray—to surrender even when understanding has not yet come. I am learning that what I fear is not settled by escape, but in prayer, where my flesh slowly yields to trust in the One who holds all of my tomorrows.