I am cleaning this kitchen, worrying over crumbs in floor as pots are scoured.
He is balancing on one leg, hopping in some unknown pattern across the tiles on this crumby floor.
“Do you think the animals in the Garden of Eden talked?”
We’ve been reading Genesis, and this boy has been turning our beginnings over and over in his mind; he asks new questions each day.
I hesitate. I am thinking of the Chronicles of Narnia, of the beavers with a capital “B”. I don’t want this child to think that This Story is a fairy tale.
“Ummm. What do you think? I think it would say if they did, don’t you? I mean, Adam was lonely for a mate…maybe because no one could talk back?”
He hops across two tiles, lands on alternate leg—never looking up.
“Well, I know they did.”
“You do? How so?”
His voice raises on the last syllable of this slithering word, as if explaining something to a child.
“Oh, yes, well, but that was the devil, see…”
But he is gone; hopped on to other things.
I stand alone, wet hands dripping, feeling that I just dropped something very important.
I’ll pick it up later, but for now…
For now I must admit that I am pleased that my boy child is pondering this familiar Bible story in his spare time.
He does this often—receives the familiar as fresh.
It’s his nature.
And I am this old wineskin, ready to rupture as the new ferments…
It’s all about the seeing again.
When I was 12, and my parents divorced, I carried my Bible with me everywhere I went for a season.
My world was falling apart, but I would cling to this…the One Thing that I knew would not change.
It was the first time I would read those words cover to cover—not understanding much of them, but clinging, breathing in their life.
They were real. Concrete. Stories to live by.
To this day, when someone says, “I don’t know if I believe the Bible literally”—this bothers me greatly.
These words were the only truth I knew during that season of my life. I know their power. They held me close many a night.
But because this was the way I cut my teeth on His Word, my mind is dull in many ways. I take these stories at face value. I relate them like bedtime tales.
But they are oh, so much more.
The layers of meaning in these Words…
Now that I am older, now that I have read much and studied more…
The meaning in these Words takes my breath away.
Yet still, sometimes they are flat to me.
It takes this hopping boy to open my eyes.
I’m still learning to see, my friends.
What beauty to behold.