My Traitorous Hand
The juices in my mouth stopped squishing in sweet flavoursome bursts at every chew and no longer slipped smoothly down my throat to fill my stomach in a satisfactory way. The soft pulpy fruit turned hard after a few mouthfuls and the liquid that ran from it, down my arm, began to feel sticky and dirty.
I chewed harder; my teeth grating together, with a gulp, another mouthful of the fruit scratched its way to fill the pit of my stomach, sharp edges catching at my throat. Yet I cannot stop. My jaws keep working and again I swallow... I swallow what feels like rocks picked up from beside a path, gravel.
"Good, good," Comes the voice, and I want to scream that, no, it is not good; I just destroyed all good single-handedly. The silky, persuasive voice, along with the one who speaks it, moves slowly away, "No longer are you burdened with your innocence, you understand, your eyes are opened," Oh yes I am beginning to understand. He leaves me to face my fate, and to face the man who stands behind me, watching. Why did he not do anything? Why did he not help me?
I stand alone, though I know he is there behind me, I can no longer feel him. Instead I am wrapped in a turmoil of wind, within and without. I can almost see it sweeping over the garden dulling the colour, stifling life. The greens become less green, and the reds less true. It whips the colour of the garden away leaving only a remnant, inside the same is happening to me. The world becomes dull.
The breeze has not the feel of the cooling wind that comes when the suns almost shines too bright, or the warming one when the sun has dipped away for the night. This wind is different, it takes the warmth out of me, and steals the happiness from inside; it twists itself into my very bones. Tendrils wrap over me, raising tiny bumps all over my skin. It whisks straight through me sucking something away, forever.
I can feel sad eyes looking at me, and a feeling like none I have never before experienced falls upon me, jealousy seizes me. Why should he still be happy? Why should he still feel the warmth and be surrounded in vibrant colour, true colour? I look back to the tree at my side, and again my traitorous hand reaches out, grasping a low hanging fruit.
Turning, I stretch out my arms to him and hold the fruit on my palm. He takes it. I watch as he eats. His face changes and I see it in his eyes as the colour vanished from the world for him too. I cannot but turn my head away at the sorrow and pain in his face. My heart breaks and I kneel sobbing. How was I to know that when I took the fruit, I took the fate of the world into my hand? He falls down beside me. We kneel together, but there is no hope.
There is hope:
If not for our saviour, there would be no hope, no hope of restoration to our previous state. But why did God create the world though he knew it would fall? Because a redeemed world is even better than a world that never had to be redeemed? Something like that.
We are now in the process of being redeemed, yet we are already redeemed. One day, all will be made new and we will all live forever in a paradise, a paradise even better than the world when God first created it, more perfect than Eden.
We only suffer for a little while.
There is hope.
One day we will be freed of time, of corruption, of all sin, all pain, all evil. We have a sure hope.