Dear Mark...

          

         I just finished reading your gospel.  I really appreciated how you point out Jesus' divinity in terms of His justice, and how He mingled justice with mercy and compassion throughout His ministry.

            The first time that really stood out to me was 3:5, when Jesus "looked around at [the Pharisees] with anger, being grieved by the hardness of their hearts."  He was grieved that their hearts were calloused, to the point that they condemned God for helping a man, and angered that they saw no harm in their legalism.  In reading this story, I was convicted.  I wish I could say that I am always grieved at hard-heartedness and angered at injustice, but I can't.  May God help me love justice and display justice as Christ did.

            In chapter five, you told the story of Jesus healing the demon-possessed man.  I research it and found out that two thousand pigs in today's market would go for $178,000.  Though money has different rates now, I'm sure Jesus would still heal that man.  You demonstrated Jesus valued the man more than the monetary profit.

            In chapter six, you told the story of Jesus walking on the water.  I must admit, I'm a little confused why Jesus wanted to pass the disciples by while they were in the boat.  Was it a punishment?  "For they had not understood about the loaves, because their hearts were hardened." (v. 52) Whatever His purpose was in trying to skirt them, His compassion in this story is amazing, for He saw their fear and instead of chastising them (like in other places when they were afraid with little faith), He calmed their fears, entered the boat, and calmed the storm.  What a perfect demonstration of mercy!

            By the way, in regards to 6:52, why did you put that verse there? It doesn't really "flow" well.  What purpose did you have in putting it there instead of a few verses before where it would have made sense?

            Anyway, thanks for sharing with me what Christ did.  You reopened my eyes to the justice that Christ demonstrated, and the mercy and compassion He had on those around Him.  

            Sincerely,

            Anya

Glorify

The past several months, my prayer has been that God would let me glorify Him. This poem is the essence of my  prayers.

Bring me joy, bring me sorrow
Bring me peace, bring me toil
Bring me laughter, bring me tears
Bring me anything that will give You glory.

Take me to the mountain top, take me to the valley
Take me where people are in pain,
Take me where they rejoice
Take me anywhere I can glorify You.

Show me others' hearts, show me nothing
Show me beauty, show me ashes
Show me Your glory, show me not
Show me what You will and through Your eyes.

Allow me to feel anger, allow me to feel love
Allow me to feel another's pain, or only my own
Allow me to feel gracious, allow me to feel just
Allow me to experience emotions as You do

For my greatest honor would be to give You glory
My highest goal is to go where I can praise You
My only desire is to see this world using Your vision
My very calling is to feel as Your own heart does.

On Her Papa's Knee

This is a story I recently read, and it really touched me.  The setting is about fifteen or so years before the civil war in Virginia.  Mr. Dinsmore is a pious, wealthy southern gentleman who lives with his only daughter, Elsie, who is about 9 or 10.

On Her Papa's Knee

by Martha Finley

excerpt from Elsie's Holidays at Roselands*

           

            "Massa, dere's a gentleman wants to speak to you," said a servant, looking in at the study door one afternoon a few days before Christmas.

            "Very well, John, show him into the library, and I will be there in a moment," replied Mr. Dinsmore, putting down his book.

            He glanced at Elsie's little figure, half buried in the cushions of a great easy-chair near one of the windows, into which she had climbed more than an hour before, and where she had been sitting ever since, completely lost to all that might be going on around her, in the deep interest with which she was following the adventures of FitzJames in Scott's Lady of the Lake.

            "Daughter, I am afraid you are reading more today than is quite good for you," he said, looking at his watch.  "You must put up your book very soon now, and go out for a walk.  I shall probably be down in ten or fifteen minutes, but if I am not, you must not wait for me, but take Aunt Chloe with you."

            "Yes, papa," she replied, looking up from her book for an instant, and then returning to it again as he left the room.

            She had not the least intention of disobeying, but soon forgot everything else in the interest of her story. 

            The stranger detained Mr. Dinsmore much longer than he had expected, and the short winter day was drawing rapidly to a close when he returned to his study, to find Elsie—much to his surprise and displeasure—precisely where he had left her. 

            She was not aware of his entrance until he was close beside her, then, looking up with a start, she colored violently.

            He gently took the book from her hand and laid it away, then, lifting her from the chair, led her across the room, where he seated himself upon the sofa, and drawing her in between his knees, regarded her with a look of grave, sad displeasure.

            "Has my little daughter any idea how long it is since her father bade her put up her book?" he asked in a gently reproving tone.

            Elsie hung her head in silence, and a tear rolled quickly down her burning cheek.

            "It grieves me very much," he said, "to find that my little girl can be so disobedient!  It almost makes me fear that she does not love me very much."

            "Oh, papa, don't!  Oh, don't say that!  I can't bear to hear it!" she cried, bursting into an agony of tears and sobs, and hiding her face on his breast.  "I do love you very much, papa, and I can't bear to think I've grieved you," she sobbed.  "I know I am very naughty, and deserve to be punished—but I didn't mean to disobey, only the book was so interesting I didn’t know at all how the time went."

            He sighed, but said nothing, only drew her closer to him, putting his arm around her, and stroking her hair in a gentle, caressing way.

            There was no sound for some moments but Elsie's sobs.

            Then she asked in a half whisper, "Are you going to punish me, papa?"

            "I shall take the book from you for a few days.  I hope that will be punishment enough to make you pay better attention to my commands in future," he said very gravely.

            "Dear papa, how kind you are!  I am sure I deserve a great deal worse punishment than that," she exclaimed, raising her head and looking up gratefully and lovingly into his face, "but I am very, very sorry for my disobedience.  Will you please forgive me?"

            "I will, daughter," and he bent down and kissed her lips.

            "Now go," he said, "and get your cloak and hood.  I think we will still have time for a little stroll through the grounds before dark."

            Elsie had very little to say during their walk, but moved silently along by her father's side, with her hand clasped in his, and he, too, seemed unusually abstracted.

            It was quite dark when they entered the house again, and when the little girl returned to the study, after Chloe had taken off her wrappings, she found her father seated in an easy-chair, drawn up on one side of a bright wood fire that was blazing and crackling on the hearth.

            Elsie dearly loved the twilight hour, and it was one of her greatest pleasures to climb upon her father's knee and sit there talking or singing, or perhaps, oftener, just laying her head down on his breast and watching the play of the fire-light on the carpet, or the leaping of the flames hither and thither.

            Mr. Dinsmore sat leaning back in his chair, apparently in deep thought, and did not hear Elsie's light step.

            She paused for one instant in the doorway, casting a wistful, longing look at him, then, with a little sigh, walked softly to the other side of the fire-place, and seated herself in her little rocking-chair.

            For several minutes she sat very quietly gazing into the fire, her little face wearing a very sober, thoughtful look.  But she was startled out of her reverie by the sound of her father's voice.

            "Why am I not to have my little girl on my knee tonight?" he was asking.

            She rose instantly, in a quick, eager way, and ran to him. 

            "If you prefer the rocking-chair, stay there, by all means," he said.

             But she had already climbed to her accustomed seat, and, twining her arms around his neck, she laid her cheek to his, saying, "No, indeed, papa; you know I don't like the rocking chair half so well as your knee; so please let me stay here."

            "Why did you not come at first, then?" he asked in a playful tone.

            "Because I was afraid, papa," she whispered.

            "Afraid!" he repeated, with an accent of surprise, and looking as if he felt a little hurt.

            "Yes, papa," she answered in a low tone, "because I have been so naughty this afternoon, that I know I don't deserve to come."

            "Did you not hear me say I forgave you?" he asked.

            "Yes, papa."

            "Very well, then, if you are forgiven you are taken back into favor, just as if you had not transgressed, and if you had quite believed me, you would have come to me at once, and claimed a daughter's privilege, as usual," he said very gravely.

            "I do believe you, papa.  I know you always speak the truth and mean just what you say," she replied in half-tearful tones, "but I know I don't deserve a place on your knee tonight."

            "What you deserve is not the question at present. We are talking about what you can have, whether you deserve it or not.

            "Ah!" he continued in a low, musing tone, more as if thinking aloud than speaking to her.  "Just so it is with us in all reference to our Heavenly Father's forgiveness.  When he offers us a full and free pardon of all our offenses, and adoption into his family, we don't more than half believe him, but still go about groaning under the burden of our sins, and afraid to claim the privileges of children.

            "It hurts and displeases me when my child doubts my word, and yet how often I dishonor my Father by doubting his.  'He that believeth not God, maketh him a liar.'  'Without faith, it is impossible to please him.'"

            He relapsed into silence, and for some moments neither of them spoke.

            He was passing his hand caressingly over her hair, and she resting in his arms and gazing thoughtfully into the fire.

© 1997 Holly Hall Publications (original ©1868)

Elkton, MD

pp. 218-222

Persevere Under Trial

"Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because after he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life God promised to those who love Him." James 1:12

 Wow, what a verse!  This should encourage anyone going through a difficult time and should admonish them to keep on keeping on.  My question while reading this verse is what does "stand the test" mean?  If there's as big a reward as the crown of life, then we really should know, right?

Well, two pictures come to mind.  The first is a horse in a thunder storm, tied to a stake in the middle of the prairie.  A blanket has been thrown over his back in a pitiful, yet "best intentions" attempt at keeping him warm.  Its knees are locked, head down, and ears back; fighting against the wind.  He isn't getting blown away, and will survive the storm, albeit a little worse for wear.  It's this concept that I will assign the term "withstanding."

The second picture is a scene from the Fellowship of the Ring, Bordamir is fighting against the oorks in an attempt to keep two hobbits safe.  Even though several arrows have pierced his armor and he's mortally wounded, he fights the enemy almost until his last breath.  This is the perfect picture of perseverance.

So, which is this verse referring to, or does it mean both?  At first glance, I would say probably both.  Some trials I've personally experienced have called for keeping up the good work, even though I would have rathered going home, curling myself up on my bed under my teddy bear blanket that my grandma gave me for Christmas a few years ago and cry myself to sleep, then staying in bed until the problem blew over, even if it took weeks.  An example I'm sure most of you could resonate with is a difficult school project that required perseverance.  However, the best example I can come up with is my... err... "friendship" (for lack of a better word) with a girl I worked with a couple years ago named Sadie. 

Sadie and I worked together one night a week for an entire school year.  That's 120 hours we spent together as "team" mates.  It's not that Sadie is bad-- or that she's a horrible worker-- it's just that she hated my guts.  To this day, I cannot fathom why she didn't like me.  She would micromanage me, or do my work for me (not because I couldn't or wouldn't do it, but just because she could), ridicule me for asking legitimate questions, and yell at me in front of other co-workers for the smallest things, like leaving the sanitizer bucket in a place she didn't like or having the gall to finish something our manager had told me to do before doing something she demanded I do (occasionally, something that the manger had told her to do and she didn't want to do).  She would tolerate no anger from me toward her unfairness and would gossip about me behind my back.  Although she was no superior of mine, she made work a drudgery.  I got to the point that I hated working and would often go play out my frustration on the piano after work, biting back tears.

Anyway, one thing God had asked me to do while I worked with her is to show her His love.  I think that's one of the hardest things He has asked me to do.  How difficult it was to treat her respectfully, politely, treat her as though there was nothing wrong!  How painful to suppress the sarcasm in my responses to her ridicule, and say nothing at all rather than a hurtful comment.  How hard to greet her with a genuine smile every time I saw her-- on and off the clock!  How infuriating to avert my eyes as she yelled at me so she couldn't see fury flash in my eyes!  How humbling to defend Sadie to other co-workers the few times that she had been justified (albeit overreacting) in calling me out on something when they came with empathy, supporting my cause!

What a trial it was.  But I persevered.  Later, when she and I were reconciled, she apologized for her cruelty and admitted that she herself didn't understand why she had been so mean.  Nonetheless, I learned much about love in adversity and even about pity and compassion.  For strangely enough, I did come to look at her with agape and mercy.  This is perseverance under trial-- the perseverance that teaches you much and gives you wisdom and draws you closer to God.

"Withstanding," on the other hand, is simply coming to the end of your rope and typing a knot with which to hold on, like watching a relative die.  We can't do anything about it, merely holding on and doing the best you can under the circumstances.  This is a good (and necessary) reaction to testing, but is more pluckiness and tenacity than perseverance; it's an attitude of "I will not give up!"  (Truth be told, perseverance and withstanding are fraternal twins and in trials you need both.)

According to this verse, we do this to receive an immortal crown.  So, going back to my original question, what is this really referring to?  After thinking, I'd have to say perseverance wins.  You see, there's the second half of the verse to reckon with.  It reads: "because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life God promised to those who love Him."  Think back to the two descriptions at the beginning of the post; the ones about a horse and Baldimir.  I would say perseverance deserves a crown more than withstanding.  Perseverance requires more work and you end up gaining more from it.  Besides, with persevering, there's the constant temptation to simply batten down the hatch and ride out the storm.  Those who are proven true-- who persevere to the end-- will receive the crown of life.  Those who simply stand firm will probably get an extra scoop of ice cream at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.  Personally, out of the two, I'd prefer that crown, even if that means I deal with more pain on this side of heaven.

Next time you're under trial, remember this.  Ask yourself if this is a test to merely endure or if you can do more with the situation than that.  Remember what Jim Elliot said: "Live to the hilt every situation you believer to be the will of God."

Camp Experiences, part 1: Hell

I stood in the modified cafeteria, staring at the long line of blindfolded ninth graders in front of me.  The sight was almost overwhelming, and most certainly made me at a loss for words.  I couldn't believe that all of these kids had made the wrong choice.  I was astonished to see several of the "good kids" in that line.  You know, the sweethearts, the quiet thinkers that you were always wondering what they're thinking, the responsible ones, the ones that were so much fun to be around just 'cause they had that special pizazz.  As I watched, the long line got shorter and shorter as the campers approached the doorway.  Technically, it led to the tornado cellar, but with a fog lamp and a red light (as the only source of light), it could easily pass for a eerie hell, probably the most realistic hell on earth any of the kids could experience.  One by one, the campers' blinders were removed just in time for them to see the steps they were heading down, and for a counselor to gruffly tell them "GO!"  As I watched their faces, they were numb, scared, confused, and sorry that they hadn't chosen a better route.  I was astonished that most of the fifty campers had chosen this fate. 

My mind went back to the activity they had started about an hour before.  At the beginning of the night, the kids were told that they were going to do a special activity, but that they had to be blindfolded to do it.  So, glasses removed and bandannas applied, they were taken to the field and led around to eight different stopping points, symbolizing different sins.  One point was "lying", another "lust", a third "disobeying parents".  If a camper had committed that sin (which they all had), they were to pick up a rock from that station, and put it in a knapsack they had been given when they had been blindfolded.  And when I say rock, I mean small bolder, about the size of bricks or larger.  Then, with all the campers properly burdened with their sins, all were taken back into the gym.  There, six or seven people were released among them, all with a different message to woo the campers to follow them, most promising to take away their burdens and blindfolds.  One catch, though: only one had the authority to remove said obstructions.  All the others simply led the campers to the small man-made hell-on-earth. 

The five or six who had chosen The One were sitting on the floor a little ways from the door that led to the makeshift hell, bandannas and burdens removed, as they had been promised would happen.  They couldn't pull any of their friends out of the line-- they hadn't been given the authority to do that.  The looks on their faces?  Well, I could tell their feelings were similar to mine: astonishment, almost overwhelmed at the long lines.  But they were also feeling something I couldn't: immense relief that they had chosen the right voice.  They were the only ones who were truly clued in, the only ones who would not be bewildered at the outcome of the activity.  Everyone else was in for the surprise of their lives.

After the last of the long line went through the door, the kids that chose The One did something I wasn't expecting.  Armed with unlit candles, they also walked into hell.  A co-worker of mine was standing next to me as the last one disappeared through the entry.  "You wanna go down?"  She asked me.  Of course I did!  I was extremely curious to see what would happen next, so the two of us descended.  It was worse down there than I had expected.  The cellar was musty usually, but adding VERY thick fog to the mix (like, so thick you couldn't wave your hand in front of your face and have any relief or even see the fog move; so thick that you could only see the outline of the person standing right next to you)... let's just say that even I, with normal, healthy lungs, was having some trouble breathing.  After noting the air quality (or lack thereof), I started paying attention to the vague forms around the room.  The cellar was small anyway, but adding 50 people made the room even smaller.  When a camper dared to whisper, the leader would yell, "Hey!  No whispering!  Be QUIET over there!"  Occasionally, a camper dropped his or her knapsack, and the leader would yell, "PICK them UP!"  No mercy given.  No excuses tolerated.  No exemptions allowed.  To be honest, he reminded me of a drill sergeant in the army.   

As if that wasn't bad enough, it got worse.  The One who had played Jesus stood at the top of the stairs and mournfully said  that he tried to get them to follow him, but they were too worried about other things; that he called to them, but they refused to choose him.  That he was the way, but they hadn't accepted him.  That although they had been good kids, gone to church and Sunday School and church camp, that he didn't know them.  With that, he slammed the door closed.  The red light, as creepy as it had been, was also turned off.  We were left in utter darkness.

I wasn't sure it could get worse for these kids, but then it did.  After the door was slammed, the counselor playing satan started talking to the campers.  In a triumphant voice, he declared that he had all of them and they couldn't escape.  That even after they left camp, they would be his.  "After all," he flaunted, "I am in your government, I am in your schools, I am in your homes... you can't even turn on the TV without seeing something I want you to see!  It doesn't matter how 'churchy' you are at camp, it doesn't matter that you try to be a 'good kid'.  You are FAKES, you are MINE and there's NOTHING you can do about it!!  Whatever I want you do to, that's what you do!" He chuckled cruelly.  "Oh, and then there's adultery.  That's all over the place!  You can't drive down the road without seeing a billboard that makes you think that way.  YOU'RE IN MY TRAP! You can't get out!  Even at this camp, you've been more concerned about having a campfire date," he spat, "than listening to the counselor tell you about God!  And even if you 'make a decision' this week, IT DOESN'T MATTER! I guarantee you, you will be mine again the Monday after you get home.  And the thing is, THIS ISN'T EVEN HELL!!! This is the reality YOU have created for yourselves.  The REAL hell is much worse than this.  YOU ARE MINE!!!" 

During this speech, my tender heart rung in anguish, and many campers in the cellar were weeping.  How true it was!  Satan is everywhere-- we cannot escape him.  Even at church, we struggle with having a secular mentality, believing that life can be compartmentalized to the point that we separate our relationship with God from everything else, honestly believing that there isn't any (and is impossible to have) any connection between them!  The more he spoke, the more I backed into a corner, subconsciously trying to escape the auditory horror before me.  He was right.  Toiling here on earth is meaningless.

As I was on the brink of tears, I saw some movement and a flicker of light.  Those who had chosen Christ had gathered together towards the front of the room.  One by one, they lit the candles.  The first wick caught, and it did my soul good to see real, natural light.  "I chose Christ."  She calmly and firmly stated. 

"It doesn't matter!" Satan declared.  "You're just playing the game.  You'll be mine again at the end of camp." 

Another candle started to blaze.  "I chose Christ" the second one proclaimed. 

"It doesn't matter.  You're still mine." 

A third.  "I chose Christ." 

"I don't care.  You'll give up all progress you've made before the end of summer."

A fourth.  "I chose Christ."

"The light is getting too much for me... but you're still mine."  My spirit lifted to know that he was weakening.

A fifth.  And a sixth.  "I chose Christ."

After each one, satan made some petty answer, but really it didn't seem to matter.  He was defeated.  Christ had his representatives in satan's own lair, and there was nothing that he could do about it.  Although he was allowed to have his time to rant, we all realized that his power was nothing in comparison to the power that the Christians had, on authority of Christ.

After the candles were lit, they walked over to another door, and calmly, quietly, led the rest of the campers out of hell.  Satan had no authority to speak to them as they left, much less stop them.  The whole crew of sobbing teenagers filed out of the room.

Those who had chosen Christ led them to the gym where the vespers band was playing a comforting and inviting tune.  On the one end of the gym, they had set up a cross.  After everyone had been seated, the leader came out and debriefed them, and then gave an invitation to accept Christ-- for real.  As a symbol of their surrender, they were to come up and deposit their bags of burdens at the foot of the cross.  When the band started to sing, I cried.  All of the campers, some of whom were still crying, rose and took their burdens and left them at the cross.

The Creation of Adam: a retelling

I wrote this a couple years ago, so I decided to dust it off and let others enjoy it as much as I have. 

            The first thing he knew was that Someone was blowing.  Not on him, but into him.  After that, he breathed.  A new experience.  Then, he opened his eyes.  He realized that it was morning, but how he knew that, he wasn't sure.  What was morning, anyway?  And who was he?  Why was he here?  He had been created, but by whom?  How?  Why?  Then, he heard something.  It was deep, throaty.  He knew at once it was a chuckle.  Someone was entertained by his curiosity.  He turned toward the sound, and what he saw made his heart jump—not out of fear, but of awe.  Immediately, the man knelt before the Being. 

            "Arise, son," the Being spoke into the man's thoughts.  The Being didn't speak out loud—but the man understood what He meant.  The man obeyed.  "Beloved, you have questions."

            The man nodded. 

            "Then ask.  I know all things.  I created all things."  He paused, then repeated his command: "Ask your questions." 

            "Who are You?"

            "I have several names.  For now, call me Elohim—Creator God."

            "You called me 'son'."  It came out more as a statement than a question, but fortunately, Elohim knew what he meant.

            "Yes.  I made you."

            "You are the One who breathed into me?" 

            Again, Elohim chuckled.  "Yes.  I breathed into you My breath—the breath of life."

            "Who am I?"

            "You are the first man, Adam."

            Adam whispered his name.

"You are also Mine.  I love you," Elohim’s voice almost sounded fierce with passion.  "Never forget this."

"Yes, Father."

Elohim smiled, pleased.  Whether from Adam agreeing immediately to obedience, or being referred to as "Father", or a combination of the two, Adam didn't know.

"Where am I?"

"In the world I created for My pleasure and for your good."

"Why did You make me?"

"Let me show you."

Elohim turned to go, and Adam followed.  Looking at his surroundings, he saw that Elohim had created him in a dirt pile by a lake.  Adam thought it was somewhat strange that he had been a pile of dirt not moments before. 

Elohim led Adam though a beautiful forest.  Ferns, flowers, moss, trees—what a great number of trees!—some bearing fruit, some flowers, some just swaying in the breeze. 

"Are you hungry?" Elohim turned toward Adam with a kind, caring, Fatherly glance.  Adam's stomach growled, and both laughed—and hard.  "Go," Elohim nodded toward the nearest tree, wiping a laughing tear from his eye.  "pick some fruit."

Adam walked over to a stand of trees.  "But, Elohim," he protested, turning back to the Guide, "There are so many types!  Which one?"

Elohim regarded Adam with a knowing look and matching grin.  "You decide."

Adam looked at all of the trees.  He then chose a bright orange ball of a fruit.  It smelled good!  He took a big bite, then looked back at Elohim with shock and disgust written on his face.  The fruit was awful—bitter.  Elohim, to Adam's surprise, threw back his head and laughed; a pleasant laugh Adam would always remember.

"That's an orange!  You're supposed to peel it!"  Elohim guffawed.  "Here, let me show you."  Adam handed the fruit to the Maker, who peeled it expertly and handed it back to the creation.  "Now, try it."  Adam did.  It was as good as it smelled!  He savored his first bites as Elohim led him down a trail. 

In a few minutes, Adam had been led to a clearing.  What he saw surprised him.  A garden wall filled his view.  A wall that was completely natural—tall shrubbery made a perfect encasement and an opening led the way to the inside of it.

"Elohim?"  Adam looked at his Creator, "It's empty, except those two tress far back.  And what does this have to do with my purpose?"

"This is the garden of Eden, in the east of the world.  It is to be your home.  I shall plant it before your eyes.  I want you to work the land and name the animals I have made.  Come!"

Through the opening they passed.  The grass was short, and tickled Adam's feet as they walked inside.  The garden was large—so large that Adam could barely see the hedge on the horizon.  All Adam saw was the two trees he had seen early, plus four rivers that came from one large one outside of the garden. 

"What would you like to see here?"  Elohim communicated, "Any kind of plant."

"What about some of those fruit trees we passed?"

Elohim moved to the right and bent over the ground.  Glancing up, he motioned for Adam to come and stand in front of Him, so he could have a good view.  Elohim loosened the dirt in a large area.  He looked up at Adam.  "Would you like to help?"

Stunned, Adam could only stare at Elohim for a few seconds, dumbfounded.  Of course he wanted to!  What a privilege, indeed!  Adam nodded.

"This is what I want you to do: every three feet or so, I want you to make hills of dirt," He demonstrated, pulling the dirt around to make a hill that was about a foot and a half high.  "Like this."

Adam nodded, and hurried to do what his Maker asked.  Elohim followed behind Adam.  He made a hole with His finger in the top of the hill, then dropped a little thing in the hole.

"What's that?"

"It's a seed.  From this will grow a tree."  Elohim carefully pushed the dirt over the seed and moved on.  In an hour, there was a seed in many hills—over fifty. 

"Now what?"

Elohim looked at their work.  "Be watered."  Adam was again amazed.  It was the first spoken phrase Adam had heard, but he didn't have long to think about it.  A mist sprang from a nearby river.  It rolled over the ground until it reached its Creator.  There, it seemed to bow down at His feet, then dance on.  Before long, all the hills Adam had made were covered with a thick mist. 

The mist dissipated, leaving all the hills extremely moist.  Adam looked at Elohim, who was still looking at the fields of hills.

Again, the Creator spoke.  "Grow!"  Suddenly, little specks of green appeared on all the hills, but they didn't stay specks: they grew.  The specks became stems; out of the stems grew a couple light green leaves and flowers, growing into larger stalks with branches.  Leaves abundantly grew out of the branches.  They grew taller and taller until they finally stopped.  The tops of most of the trees were higher than Adam's head, but he could reach about half-way up most of them.

Still, the changes didn't stop; Adam saw the flowers disappear to make way for new balls of green on every tree. Most of them stayed roundish, but a few stayed green.  Adam saw purples, reds, browns, oranges, yellows, blues, as well as combinations of the colors.  Soon, all growing ceased.  The growing had only taken about ten minutes, and before Adam stretched an orchard.

"Elohim, You…" Adam paused for a moment, looking for the right way to communicate what he wanted to say.  "I'm at a loss for words.  Tell me, though… which ones need to be, um, peeled?"

Elohim looked down at Adam.  Love radiated from His face.  "Don't worry.  I'll let you know before you take a bite."

Elohim turned and looked around.  "What else would you like in this garden?"

"Oh, well," Adam looked down at the ground, thinking. "Tall trees, ferns, vines, palm trees, flowers…"  Adam turned around and gasped.  Everything he'd mentioned was there! 

Elohim turned to Adam with a twinkle in His eyes.  "Anything else?"

Adam shook his head, struck dumb with amazement.  Elohim looked back at the garden.  He caused a few more trees to grow, then nodded.  "It is good," He spoke with satisfaction.  He surveyed the garden one more time.  "Adam, there is something you must see."  The urgency in Elohim's voice made Adam follow Elohim to the middle of the garden.  There were the two trees he had seen earlier.  The one on the right was the most pretty tree Adam had seen so far.  Its leaves, trunk, and fruit were white.  The other was darker.  Its fruit was brown, its leaves were a darker green than any other tree in the garden; its trunk nearly black.  Adam was both curious and suspicious—especially about the second tree.  It made him feel uncomfortable.

"Adam, this tree," Elohim pointed to the darker one, "Is the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.  You may eat of any other tree—I give you every green thing to eat—except this one." Adam looked into Elohim's eyes.  Elohim loved him desperately, that was obvious.  But there was also something else—a longing to keep something from him, to protect the beloved creation.  "You must not eat of it or you will die."

"Die?"

"You will be separated from Me forever."

Adam looked up into the kind eyes of the Creator, which were surprisingly filling with tears, as though the prospect pained Him terribly.  Adam looked at the ground again, considering what he had just heard.  He had only known Elohim for a few short hours, but the thought of being separated from Him was am awful one.

Adam looked up at the Creator and smiled.  "No worries.  I have no desire to be away from You." Elohim looked almost wistfully back at Adam, then also genuinely smiled. 

Breaking Dawn

Morning came early, so early it was dark.  But, more than dark—it was the blackest black I had ever seen.  The black seemed three-dimensional and hopeless: so great, so wide, so immense that I wondered if the sun could even rise; could possibly penetrate the looming darkness.

            Cautiously, a strip of blue appeared slightly above the horizon, but the black still reigned on the horizon—certain of its victory over the light.  Slowly, almost painfully, the blue spread up and became lighter.  However, the horizon was still dark.  As I watched the blue expand, I was unaware of the purple overcoming the blackness.  When I finally noticed it, the purple was still somewhat dark, as though the black was desperately trying to keep its hold over the horizon.  Gradually, though, the black surrendered to the purple; and the purple, to accomplish the greater goals of the sun, bowed to the pink.

            Once the pink held the horizon with a gentle yet firm touch, it directed the sky, leading it the way a conductor would direct a symphony.  Yellow flowed peacefully above the pink, and then moved up in altitude, making the clouds look as though they floated on a sea of gold, the excitement and love of the pink glowing on the white clouds.  The purple slid back in again, glad to return to the picture.  There they stayed for what seemed like a long time: pink closest to the horizon, then purple, yellow and blue expanding to the whole sky.

            Then the sun carefully peaked over the horizon.  When he realized that the darkness was gone, he rose.  One glance from his brilliant red gaze chased every color other than blue away.  Compared to the rest of the sunrise, the sun rose quickly in his red glory, eventually trading his red cape for a golden one.  Soon his yellow triumph, which would last the entire day, was too exuberant to look at.

            Our lives, at times, are like this sunrise.  Life seems extremely dark: blackness that is three-dimensional and can be felt; blackness the hovers maliciously, laughing at our hopelessness.  Then, when we don't know how it could get darker, it somehow does.  We wallow in despair wondering how—if—the sun can rise through the gloom.

            But then, life brightens.  Not in the most critical area, but yet hope rises.  We fear to let it rise to high, knowing full well life could grow gloomy and desolate again.  As we watch the minor situations improve, we are unaware that the most serious situation is brightening. 

            When we finally notice that God is moving, He has already done so much!  Slowly, meticulously, He gives us hopeful color, only to take it away again—to allow something better to flow into our lives in its place.  Carefully, he changes our circumstances for our better and to His glory and praise.  Soon, He removes all doubt, remorse, and fear.  He appears to us, allowing us to share in His victory.  His triumph and glory are so great that we can't look at Him; merely fall down in worship before Him.