The mud and the clay. God-breathed creativity brought you to life. An image, a likeness. You were animal, but more than animal. You were godlike, but less than God. Divine image bearer, you were loved first.
One by one, the animals were lined up before you. The first parade. I wonder if you clapped as they went by. You named them all. Yes, God gave you a clever mind. I would’ve probably named the giraffe, “Walter.”
The Lord gave you privilege and responsibility. Ruling over the great created order. To care. To love. To bless and be blessed. You were tossed the keys to your Dad’s car. I wonder if your face beamed like a teenager. Freedom. His delight in you, evident.
And then a partner, an Ishah to your Ish- so you wouldn’t be lonely. Upon seeing her you exclaimed a bone and flesh sentiment: In my strength and in my weakness! I wonder if it represents the collective gasp made by centuries of husband’s, at the sight of their wedding night bride. Words from a man undone.
After the car crashed, the keys were revoked. You couldn’t fix what was broken. I wonder if that was the first time a wish was made, in the cool of the evening. Somehow, regret makes us want for magic. But there was no going back. Time and sin march on. You took the punishment like a man, the only way you could.
I hope that guilt and regret did not haunt your days, like it sometimes does mine. I’ve wrecked a few cars, too. It’s easy to wear shame, like the animal fur that clothed you from that day on. But a heavenly Dad helps me to remember, He loved me first and loves me still. The One who paved the way back to Him.
His delight for Adam,