Away from the Tree
“I want more.” It began as a whisper in my heart. I remember pushing it down, still reasonably aware of all we had been given. Adam squeezed my hand and looked knowingly into my eyes. Our thoughts were known to one another. We flowed as one stream, two rays of sun from the same ball of fire. He knew my heart and loved it as his own.
But that statement burned in me. I remember cupping fragrant flowers in my hands, looking into the eyes of the creatures and somehow knowing them too. The rhythm of the bubbling brooks matched my own heartbeat. We moved together in the garden. “But there’s more.” My eyes were drawn to the tree that day. Away from the form of my husband, away from our Creator walking through the garden. What mystery was hidden in its fruit?
It all happened so quickly. One choice and then another. In that moment, we were stripped of His glory, clothed now in shame. I couldn’t look our Creator in the eye. I hung my head low as He told us the consequences. I could hear the ache in His tone, the way His gentle kindness now moved toward discipline and pain. He was heartbroken. What had we done?
As we left the garden, the clothing He had crafted felt itchy against my skin. It was nauseating to wear the skin of animals we had named and cared for. The Tree of Life grew faint in the distance as I forever said goodbye to this perfect place.
Adam walked at a pace ahead of me, no longer at my side. I wondered if he would ever forgive me. I could no longer read the expression in his eyes or know his thoughts. A chasm was placed between us and I knew then it was for always. Our feet fell hard against the jagged earth and our eyes squinted against the night sky. For the first time, the hair on my arms raised and I felt the chill of exposure in the night and the fear of uncertainty. Tears stung my eyes and stained my cheeks.
The full weight of the lie was settling in and I could not turn back. The serpent had lied. This was death. Surely nothing could be worse than leaving our beautiful home and becoming strangers that labor and wander the earth.
Our story began in the garden. When I consider the roots of our broken identity, I think it’s important that we return to the tree. Our desires were born there. We were designed to live where rivers meet land in a garden that is no more. We were made to connect with our Creator, oversee the good of the earth, and develop uncomplicated relationships. I know in writing this fictional account of Adam and Eve, my heart aches for what was lost. Man’s outcome changed in the garden, but our intended design did not.
God wrote our story, wanting us to know our immense worth through Him. It was always meant to be a relationship, a love story. He designed us with a free will so that we could choose, but He never intended for us to experience the agony and separation of sin. When sin entered the picture, it damaged the relationship and caused natural consequences. I will warn you, this next part is a bit heavy. But please read to the end, because it always ends with hope and restoration!
First and foremost, our relationship with God was severed. Genesis 3:8 (WEB) tells us that “they heard Yahweh God's voice walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of Yahweh God.” Sin brings us shame and causes us to hide from God. Verse 19 tells us that we will return to dust. I imagine this consequence was painful to digest, going from God’s image to shapeless dust.
In Genesis 3:17, 18 we are told that the ground was cursed and man would laboriously grow food from it, amidst thorns and thistles. My undeveloped green thumb has been poked by these guys enough times to know that this punishment has made it difficult to grow the things I want in my landscape. The garden marriage was damaged, which is noted in verse 16, that our “desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.” My understanding of this verse is that as wives we will want to make decisions and control our relationships and that men are the leaders and authority in our homes. This painful dynamic has led to abuse, neglect, and mismanaged households since the beginning of time. In verse 23 we see that they are banished from the garden, which is now guarded by armed cherubim.
Our broken relationship with our bodies began there, too. Genesis 3:16 says that “I will greatly multiply your pain in childbirth. You will bear children in pain.” I believe this pain extends to the immense anguish and hardship of longing for children. We’ve known the sorrow of difficulty conceiving, complications during pregnancy, the worry that stillness brings and the discomfort of a swift kick to the ribs. We’ve mourned over the lives that didn’t join us. Those that did for too short of a time. It stirs me to even write this as I think of our pregnancies and those lives that I don’t know. The fall has made tombs of our bodies and we endure this excruciating consequence.
In 2 Corinthians 5:2,3 it says “we groan in these bodies, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked.” This reminds me that Adam and Eve were not only aware of their nakedness, but the reality that they had been stripped of God’s glory and presence. The dissatisfaction we feel with our bodies began in the garden. The shame, disappointment, longing for something different. We may label it a weight problem or body dysmorphia, but truly we are longing for the weight of His glory.
Even still, our hope is not lost. Jesus is promised to us in the beginning. Genesis 3:14, 15 tell us the serpent was punished, being cursed to roam on its belly and eat dust for all of his days. In verse fifteen, it says “I will put hostility between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring. He will bruise your head, and you will bruise his heel.” This is the promise of Jesus. The Bible never swayed from this rescue plan. In Genesis 3:20, God clothed Adam and Eve in the skin of the first blood sacrifice. This imagery is powerful because He provided the first reckoning for sin. The practice of animal sacrifices was established in the garden.
You aren’t alone. God never meant for you to walk alone. He grieves for what was lost. Please read that again. I believe He grieves for those that are suffering and those that have returned to dust. He suffers with us in our broken bodies. Not one verse in the Bible says “when you are alone” because you simply aren’t. Whether or not you are walking with Him, He is there and able to protect you with peace and hope. Eternity with Him is a return to the original design. Uncomplicated, perfectly repaired, and complete union with Him.
In what way can this offer hope today?
Photo credit: Matt Boyle