There comes a moment in every believer’s walk when the familiar begins to feel distant. The stories we’ve known for years… the verses we can recite by heart… somehow lose their depth, their wonder, their intimacy.
If you’ve ever felt like your time with God has grown quiet, routine, or even stale—you’re not alone. But you’re not stuck there either.
Back to Eden is an invitation to return. Not just to Scripture—but to the origination of it. Because sometimes, the breakthrough doesn’t come from something new… it comes from seeing what’s always been there, correctly.
The History of Back To Eden
Back to Eden was born in a quiet tension I couldn’t ignore—the slow realization that something in my time with the Lord had grown familiar to the point of feeling distant. A few years ago, I found myself showing up faithfully, sitting still long enough to listen (which, for me, felt like the miracle of discipline in itself), yet sensing that the depth I once experienced wasn’t meeting me in the same way. Instead of walking away, I leaned in.
I began asking questions I had never thought to ask before: Why that word? Why was it written that way? What did it mean then—not just now? That curiosity led me into the world of etymology, and what started as a simple search quickly became an obsession. Word by word, I uncovered layers of meaning, cultural context, and Hebraic depth that completely reframed the Scriptures I thought I already knew. What I discovered wasn’t new truth—but ancient truth, alive again. And in that process, my time with God didn’t just improve—it was restored. Back to Eden is the overflow of that journey: a return to the roots, where intimacy was never forced, and His voice was never unclear.
While the book was being handwritten long before I agreed to turn it into a hard, tangible copy, I wrestled with God about it. Dare I say argued. I felt His gentle nudging to lay down my fear, dismiss the concern of needing a degree in seminary to write a book on Christianity, and while those accolades are so special, He just simply impressed upon me that He didn't need me to have any of that in order to complete His will. He needed a book like this to exist, He needed me to write it, and my obedience was the last thing He was waiting on. The intimacy and personal journey that my quiet time is to me, He wanted on full display. The heartfelt tears I'd poured onto my legal note pad with the binding coming loose at the top, I felt Him; "there are people just like you, who have loved Me for a long time, and they need to read what I've revealed to you."
I huffed and puffed a few times, and then agreed. This book was never something I set out to write—what He was showing me felt deeply personal, like sacred ground meant just for my quiet time with Him. I didn’t want to expose it, to package it, to share it. Yet the tension wasn’t just reluctance—it was the weight of knowing that obedience was being asked of me.
And in the end, I couldn’t ignore that.