Good morning. My name is Eve. Thank you for letting me come talk to you. I'm sorry it's just me. Adam wanted to come, really he did, but he has to work. He works very hard. Ever since we left the garden he doesn't seem to do anything but work. I never see him during the day unless I go down to take him his lunch or something. Sometimes I think that's why Cain turned out the way he did... But that comes in another part of the story. I came tonight to tell you what happened: how things were at the beginning, what we did to ruin it all, and what things have been like since.
It's been a long time since we left the garden, but I'll never forget it. It was more wonderful than you could possibly imagine. It was never too hot or too cold, and the rain was kind of soft, and warm, and always smelled sweet, as if it was full of flowers. There wasn't anything in the ground that would hurt your feet when you ran. I don't remember what the mosquitoes ate, but whatever it was it wasn't us. We knew all the animals by name, and they knew us, too. We played together. Adam and I ran with the deer in the evening, and wrestled with the tiger cubs in the morning, and sometimes took naps in the afternoon with the bears. They were so soft and warm! Nobody was ever frightened or angry or hungry, and no one ever hurt one another, even by accident. All of the things that grew in the garden were good to eat, leaves and nuts and fruit - everything. Some were sweet, some were salty, some were crunchy, and some were cool and smooth. Whatever it was always seemed to be just exactly what you wanted to eat right then. But the very best thing of all was how the garden felt... It seemed as if all the love and peace and joy in the world were swirling around you, like bubbles in champagne ... all tickley and tingly and alive... it always felt as if you were going to break out in laughter or singing any minute. I felt like that a little bit once, later on, when my first baby was born, and we'd rock on the porch on a sunny afternoon when the world was full of light and it seemed as if everything would stay perfect forever. Sometimes I still get that same feeling, when God comes to see Adam or me... But he doesn't come very often any more, and he doesn't stay long, and the feeling doesn't last. It's never the same as it was in the garden, when we were with God all the time.
I still don't know why we did what we did. We knew better. God told Adam not to eat from the tree in the middle of the garden, and Adam told me. And for a long time we didn't. We had everything we needed, and we were happy.
But one day I was just lying on my back sort of looking up at the trees and singing a little song to myself when a voice right down on the ground next to my ear said, "Psst! Eve! Wake up!" And I turned my head and there was Snake, not six inches from my nose. And I said, "Hi, Snake. What's new?" Of course I knew that there wasn't anything really new because God made Adam and me last of all. But it was a way of saying, "Let's make conversation."
And Snake said, "Let's do something different. Let's do something really exciting instead of sitting around doing the same old boring silly things all the time."
"So I said, "Snake, what do you mean, 'bored'? I'm not bored. Adam and I have lots to do and we always have fun."
And Snake said, "Boy, are you dumb. What a pair of stick-in-the-mud old-fashioned scaredy-cat fuddy-duddy sissies you two are. I'll bet you never do ANYTHING without asking God's permission first."
So then I said, "But Snake, we don't have to ask. We can do whatever we like. God gave us the garden to live in and take care of for Him."
Then Snake said, "What about eating from the tree in the middle of the garden?"
And I said, "But Snake, if we eat that fruit we'll die!" I didn't know what 'die' meant but it sounded simply dreadful and I was sure I didn't want to do it.
And then Snake said, "Oh, grow up! Haven't you figured out yet that that's just God's way of keeping you on a short leash? He just doesn't want you to have any fun. If you ate from the tree you'd be just as smart as He is, and you could do anything you wanted and then where would He be? You wouldn't need Him any more. He just wants you to stay dumb and ignorant and dependent forever. Get with it, you guys! Stop being such a goody two-shoes! Live a little!"
So I did. I went and got a piece of the fruit and I ate it. And Wow! You know, it was really something... Everything got all swirly and the colors got very bright and it felt as though I were ten feet tall and I could see everywhere in the world and I ran to get Adam and said, "Adam it's wonderful, you try it, too." And he did. And we danced and jumped around and did all kinds of very silly things and all of a sudden we both started feeling really, really sick. Neither of us had ever been sick before. It was just terrible.
And I looked at Adam and he looked really ridiculous. And stupid. I didn't even know those words before. And so I said, "Boy, Adam, you look really weird. And awful. And wrong, somehow." And he looked at me and said, "Well, so do you." And I looked down, and he was right; I wanted to cover myself right up so no one could see how bad I looked.
So I ran and hid behind a big tree in some tall grass where nobody could see me, especially God. I don't know where Adam went. I didn't care. I stayed there for a long time. After a while I picked some big leaves off a nearby bush and strung them on a vine and hung them around my waist like a sort of skirt. It came down almost to my knees and I felt really stupid. I didn't know the word 'stupid' before, either. But at least when I wore it I could walk around and still stay sort of hidden so it was better than nothing. While I was doing all of that I heard God's voice calling, but he was calling for Adam, not for me, so I didn't come out because I hoped he wouldn't notice that I wasn't there and would forget all about me but of course He didn't so I had to come out, too.
It was just as awful as it could be. I had to explain what we'd done and why I'd done it and God's voice was so cold. He'd never been cold before. And then I learned about 'dying'. Dying meant that Adam and I couldn't live in the garden with God any more. We had to go 'outside', wherever that was. And everything would fight us and everyone would be angry all the time. When Adam tried to get food from the ground the plants would fight him, and sometimes the leaves and fruit would make us sick. And Adam and I would fight. And when my babies were born they'd fight with me, and we'd all hurt each other. Everyone would be angry or hurt or scared all the time.
I don't know why God didn't just kill us right off instead of kicking us out. Then he could have started over with better people. Adam says that someday God will make everything all right, that our grandchildren's grandchildren will have a chance to live with God again. I hope so, but I don't understand how he can do it. I've thought and thought and what I think is that what Adam and I did is like when a baby is born, you know? After the cord is cut the baby has to eat and breathe on his own outside the mother. And if something happens to the cord while the baby is still inside it dies. And I think that's what we did. We broke whatever it was that let us live in the garden with God, and the only place we can live at all is outside. So how can we go back? A baby can't go back inside his mother.
Snake lied. I hate Snake.
We tried really hard at first to do things just the way God would like, because we were sorry, and we missed Him, but it got harder and harder to remember and harder and harder to do, because everything was so different and no matter how much we tried we still couldn't make it half as nice as the garden. Of course the first thing we had to do was find some place to live and figure out how we were going to eat. So we built a farm. And you'd probably laugh at all the stupid things we did while we were learning. I learned a lot of very interesting words whenever Adam hit his thumb with a hammer. But do you know, if I use those very same words when the roof leaks Adam gets mad at me? I don't understand Adam at all. He's gotten so grouchy, even when I try my hardest to do everything just right. And I never see him except when he's too tired to talk, and we haven't played at all since we left the garden.
But then my baby Cain was born, and I was so happy... I still thought maybe God was going to make everything all right again and that if we tried really hard to be good that he'd let us go back and live with him in the garden. But then a few years later Abel was born. And Cain just hated him from the very beginning. He'd pinch Abel and make him cry whenever my back was turned. And when they got older Cain would blame Abel for just every little thing. Sometimes I think Cain would do things on purpose just to get Abel into trouble. And he just got angrier and angrier and would hit the walls with his fist and whenever he and Adam got together they'd fight. I didn't know what to do. I tried to tell him about God and how God would like us to live but that just made him even madder. He'd say things like, "Boy, that God of yours is really unfair. I don't see why you still talk to Him and give Him things and wait for Him to come around. I'll bet He really doesn't care what you do at all. If God won't let us go see Him I don't think we should let Him come visit us and I don't see why I have to be polite to Him when He does!" And then he'd stomp out of the house, slamming the door, and be gone for days on end.
Adam was gone almost all the time in those days when the boys were growing up, and Cain just got wilder and wilder. Abel was my only comfort. He was so different from Cain, so sweet and loving and affectionate. And when I talked to him about God and the garden he'd listen and ask questions and his eyes would get really big. He would ask questions like, "When I get big do you suppose God will come talk to me the way he does with you and Dad?" And he was so good and gentle and patient with the sheep and the lambs. And you know what? He used to make up little songs, too, the way I used to do long ago in the garden. I don't know what I would have done in those days without my Abel.
But one fall after we'd gotten the crops in both the boys were home at the same time for once so we decided to have a feast and a special time of family devotions and then make a big offering to God to thank Him for the harvest. And God came and took Abel's offering but just left Cain's where he had put it. And Cain completely blew up. It was really scary; I'd never seen anything like it. And he stormed out of the house, and Abel followed him. And the next thing I knew Cain killed Abel and God banished Cain and both of my beautiful sons were gone. That hurt as much as leaving the garden.
But then after a while God gave me another son whom we called Seth, and I began to understand that even though we couldn't live in the garden with Him God still was watching over us and taking care of us and would help us as long as we remembered Him and tried to do what He wanted us to. Seth was a good boy. He wasn't Abel, but he was a good boy. And Adam began to stay home a little more, and our life did eventually settle down.
I'm very, very old now. I don't think people live as long nowadays as they did when Adam and I were alive; I've seen my great-great-grand¬children grow up and marry. Seth's bunch are mostly pretty good kids; they're a lot like him, and he's raised them well. I hear different things about Cain's lot, though. They're always fighting about something. Sometimes I think they're daring God to come do something about it. I get so tired of hearing about the killing, but it just goes on and on. I've asked Adam not to tell me about it any more.
I know this is an awfully sad story. I didn't tell you about it to depress you or to get you to feel sorry for me, but so you'd understand how it was. And I wanted to tell you I'm sorry, and I'd go back and change things if I could, but I can't. And if anyone tries to tell you not to obey God, don't listen to them; they're lying to you just like Snake did to me. And if He ever gives you a second chance to go back and live with Him in the garden, please - take it.
