Genesis 3:8-9
If I were Eve:
The cool breezes waft against my sun burnt cheeks. All is silent except the lapping
shoreline and the crowing rooster.
The leaves of the trees rustle a bit from the gentle wind. I am almost completely seduced by the
peace and familiarity around me. I
want to immerse in a pretending game that nothing has changed. I am coddled by the arms of what was
about to be lost forever.
“Where are you?”
His voice.
How could such a gentle and loving voice jostle me so
abrasively? It is cold water to my
face and I brace myself for a future that pales in comparison to all I have
known. There is only unknown. I await my sentence as I grit my teeth
with tension rising from the pit in my stomach.
I hide.
The love and purity radiates from His presence but instead
of comfort, it burns; it itches.
Even so, a conflicted part of me desires to just run into his arms and
hope for something same, something familiar, something warm. I would hope that there would be some
part of my dignity there, some part of my identity.
But how can I?
Nevertheless, I know hiding from omnipresence is
futile. In red-handed honesty I
reply, “I was hiding because I’m naked and afraid.”
