Gen.3 The Morning of the Fall

The sun floated gently upon her face. A slight breeze stirred through the leaves of the giant maple nearby. Birds alternated between rich arias and full choral pieces. The wolf laid by her side. During the night no insects drilled or ripped into her creamy skin. No predators prowled the dark. There was not a shred of fear in her heart as she had layed down to sleep; and now, the freshness of dawn was calling to her. The notes of the symphony of Creation were all in tune. There was only one discordant note, one counterpoint, one insistent thought lurking in her mind. It had been there for days.

She rolled over from her deep green blanket of grass from which no allergy had ever irritated her skin, and opening her eyes, the love of her life was laying beside her. Regal of brow, powerful of body, kind of heart--fully devoted to her, Adam awoke.

Lying together, they gently rejoiced in the joy of comnpleteness. Their joy, given by the Father whom they adored. The lion they had named greeted the morning on a rock outcropping 25 feet away. The gazelle darted by as did the lumbering tapir, blissfully thriving in life. Their vividness radiant. The joy and exuberance of each animal shone from within. And every specie frolicked in the innocence of ignorance.

"Shall we talk more about it now," Adam asked. "Later," she whispered. In each mind, an unaccounted shadow hovered.

After arising, they took their customary walk. They stopped to pluck grapes, succulent and juicy. As they moved by the bluebbery patch, Mr. Bear pawed a hello. By the babbling brook their thirst was quenched and carrots, green peppers and dark lettuce were cleaned and feasted on. The artichoke, pineapple and lime were fresh on the vine and papya juice ran strong with mango.

They were near the center now. At every turn, their eyes beheld the wonders of creation. Deep canyons, towering pinnacles, snow capped mountains, alpine meadows, gentle lakes and deserts in full bloom were all laid side by side. Their hearts leapt in exulatation at the grandeur they never tired of.

But as their eyes turned forward, their steps halted, for once again, as they had every day, they came to the Tree. The one Tree. The Tree that had come to dominate their minds. The one that was stirring their wills and straining their serenity. The only tree the Father had told them they could not eat of. Their one boundary, their one limitation, their only prohibition.

They sat, they stared--------and the shadow grew.

Thor's Rumblings

Pastor’s Pen

Dear Friends,

Sometimes the greatest surprises come out of the biggest disappointments.

This past week, as some of you know, I was in the Boston area helping Dottie’s aunt as well as taking some study leave. I love history—particularly American history and I was in historical heaven there in the cradle of the American Revolution. I did the Freedom Trail (a historical tour of places in Boston) and saw the Boston Commons, the Old Grainery Cemetery, where Paul Revere, Samuel Adams, Mother Goose (a person) and the victims of the Boston Massacre, are all buried. I also saw places like the Old South Meeting Hall and Faneuil Hall that were prominent locations of patriotic discussions, the Old North Church, where the two lanterns were lit, and Bunker Hill, a devastating victory for the British.

I had a delightful time following the running battle from Lexington (where the shot heard round the world occurred) to Concord, dining at the Colonial Inn in Concord (dated to 1717) and seeing in the same 5 mile area—Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Pond of fame, the Orchards house which is where Louisa May Alcott grew up and based her book-Little Women on, and then the Old Manse house from which the battle at the North Bridge was viewed by a Pastor on April 19, 1775, then in the 1830’s, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote for nearly ten years and then in the 1840’s, Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote—all from the same house. Absolutely amazing. Pure delight—historical bonanza!

But my most thrilling experience emanated from the biggest disappointment. I have always been a huge fan of John Adams (signer of the Declaration, first Vice President and second President of the United States). His wife, Abigail, is one of the most amazing women in history, a strong outspoken follower of Jesus, wonderful insights into the Christian life and the political landscape of that day and a loving advocate for the rights of all people. Her written letters are pure gold.

So I drove down to Quincy/Braintree where John Adams was born, raised and where he and Abigail lived (it is just 8 miles south of Boston). I was so excited to see where they lived, how they lived, where they were buried and to read and discover more about them.

When I got there at 10:30 in the morning—the Interpretive Center was closed, the old cemetery was closed, the houses they had lived in were closed and the church where they were buried was closed. I was mad—me, a lover of American history, an amateur historian from the west coast, only time in my life in Quincy, and just because it’s cold out and there aren’t many tourists---they can’t be open! I fumed as I walked around. I went back to the Church of the Presidents where John and Abigail were buried as well as their son, John Quincy Adams, the 5^th President of the United States and his wife-- and I began walking around it just to try and get a feel for it.

As I encircled the building, a man came out a basement door carrying garbage. I stopped him and pleaded, “Sir, I am from Oregon and I am a big fan of John and Abigail Adams and I may never be here again. Is there any way I can come in and take a quick peek? He looked furtively around and then said, “Okay, but we don’t normally do this.” He proceeded to take me down into the basement, through a maze of hallways and then unlocked a strong wooden door. This led into a stone hallway and he led me up to a locked iron grate. He took out an old skeleton key unlocked the grate and said, “Go on in.” I had to stoop to enter, but as I went in I did so slowly because it was dark and I could see nothing. “Is there a light?” I asked. “Oh, of course,” he answered and proceeded to switch on the light.

I was stunned speechless. Overwhelmed. Awed. I was stooped over, standing one foot from the stone coffin of John Adams. His wife, Abigail’s coffin was a step away. John Quincy and his wife were five steps away. I was in the crypt of their burial. Separated only by stone containers from some of my (and the nation’s) greatest heroes, I asked permission to touch the coffin, to photograph them and to linger. Out of my huge disappointment, I was being given such a rare privilege to actually enter, touch and linger where the general public must view from beyond the locked grates.

I am even today—still ‘blown away’ by this rare privilege I received.

I remember the Apostle James telling his fellow believer’s, “Consider it pure joy, my brethren, whenever you face trials of many kinds.”(James 1:2) Pure joy describes my reaction to the huge disappointment I had been experiencing.

Indeed, sometimes the greatest surprises come out of the biggest disappointments!

In Christ,

Greg