Another frustrated sigh pushed its way from Adam’s lungs as he attacked the unforgiving ground with his makeshift shovel. He’d been at this particular project for days, struggling to eke out survival from a land to which he was unaccustomed. No fruit hung readily from trees. No vegetables grew in lush corners. No perfectly clear water bubbled joyfully in a winding stream through their dwelling place. They were struggling for every bite. The work was backbreaking. He was exhausted. And his mind simply wouldn’t let up.
He was consumed with regret. Constantly running mental scenarios that would have ended differently. He could have stayed closer to Eve, kept her from conversing with the serpent. If he’d been there, he could have stayed her hand when she reached for the fruit. He could have been stronger, stiffened his spine, chosen not to eat the fruit himself. He’d known the truth from the beginning. As soon as Eve extended her hand to offer him that fateful bite, he’d known it was “the fruit.” The forbidden one. The one about which the command had fallen directly from God’s lips to his ear. “Do not eat fruit from the tree in the center of the garden.” No matter how hungry you are. Regardless of how good it looks. Despite who says differently. Do. Not. Eat. That. Fruit.
In retrospect, Adam couldn’t quite remember what had made him take that fruit from Eve’s hand and sink his teeth into its perfect flesh. Was it the sheer beauty of her face? Was it her mesmerizing eyes? Was it the musical lilt to her voice that cajoled him into capitulation? Was it the eternal masculine urge to please and impress their female counterparts? Whatever it was, Adam wished it had never happened. Wished he’d had more self-control. Wished he’d doggedly followed the path he knew to be true.
Eve wasn’t without regrets herself. The hard lifestyle was punishment enough. Scraping and working for every bit of shelter, every stitch of clothing, every bite of food. It was ridiculously difficult. Then she gave birth. Twice. No painkillers. No sterile facility. No soft beds. No doting medical staff. No promise she’d live to raise the babies she labored so hard to birth. But she did. Eve lived to tell future generations that when God said there would be pain in childbearing, He hadn’t been soft-selling one thing! When God speaks, His directions, His promises, His commands are absolute.
It had been so easy to cast blame for their current situation. The words had flown off her tongue the moment God had asked the sharply pointed question, “What have you done?” Excuses poured out in a spew of verbal retching. It was the serpent’s fault. All the serpent’s fault. He had beguiled her. Tricked her with silky tones and soothing words. Taken advantage of her obvious enchantment with the tree. Told her there would surely be no harm in eating its fruit. Tormented her with the idea that God was keeping something from her. Holding out on her. Keeping back good things. Wisdom. Knowledge. In silver-tongued descriptions only the evil one could use, he painted a vibrant picture of God as a tyrant, holding her back, pushing her down, choking out her progression as a human being. And it wasn’t fair. (Genesis 2-4)
We are often right there. Short-sightedly gazing at our imminent future, we see things we love and want. Things that look good and beautiful. Things that look like the fanciful icing to our drably decorated cake. Acceptance to that college. An offer from that job. A proposal from that man. Things we want with every fiber of our being. Our hearts long to go after them. Chase them down. But in the midst of the chasing, the still small sound of the Voice of truth speaks something different than we want to hear. “No” when we want to hear “yes.” “Wait” when we want to hear “Go.” “Stop” when we’ve ill-advisedly embarked on a venture we should never have begun. Broken-hearted, we sulk. Lay blame. Ask why. We become enraged that God would be so unfair. Not unlike Eve, we give place to the evil one. (Jeremiah 17:9; Romans 12:2; Isaiah 53:6; Psalm 14:3; Luke 6:46)
He happily takes that place. Preening as he spouts flowery words of deceit. He tells us that if God really loved us He’d allow us to have the things we want so much. He says that if God really cared, He’d grant us that lifestyle we crave, the fame we desire, the sought-after number of zeroes on our bank balance. The evil one says love equals approval. Blanket approval. Carte blanche to do our own thing, walk our own way, chase our own dreams and still salvage our eternity. Clearly, the evil one is just as short-sighted as we are.
But he isn’t stupid. He is slick and sly. The creator of lies and traps. His every move is intent on your spiritual demise. His favorite tool is deceit. Why? Because it works so well. We love to hear what we want to hear. As soon as we hear it, we often quit seeking true direction because we aren’t interested in the alternative. We don’t actually want to hear God speak unless He agrees with our desired course of action. So we tightly clutch our hell-manufactured answer in our grubby little hands and swear it’s the gospel. In doing so, we end up in the same place as Adam and Eve. (II Corinthians 11:3, 14; John 8:44; I Timothy 2:14; Daniel 8:25; II Corinthians 4:4)
Affronted and insulted by the perceived slight, Eve marched up close to that tree, stood on tiptoe, and indignantly snatched a glowing fruit from the branch. In arrogant defiance, she sunk her teeth into its soft flesh. The fruit was delicious! And, look at that! She wasn’t struck dead! Indeed, nothing happened except she indulged in a lovely piece of fruit. She had to tell Adam he’d been duped. He’d passed along misinformation. One could eat the fruit and live! Plucking another luscious fruit from a heavily laden branch, Eve raced off to find Adam.
The moment she held out her forbidden offering, Adam should have turned away. He had to have recognized that fruit. He had to have realized the magnitude of the situation. He had to have known that his moment to choose obedience was right then. Yet, instead of refusing, instead of following the command of God, Adam hesitantly reached out and took the fruit. Raised it to his mouth. And ate. Even if he wasn’t hungry. Even though he knew he shouldn’t. Even knowing the consequences of his actions would be dire. Adam ate anyway. Because, in that moment, the power of suggestion from someone he loved overrode the Voice of truth that had originally spoken. Eve, quoting the misleading statements of the enemy, made Adam doubt what he knew to be true. And, in the midst of that cloud of doubt, Adam ate too. The ramifications were life-altering. (Genesis 3)
Ushered from their paradise by their own choices, they embarked on a less-than-idyllic existence. One of hard labor, difficulties, and pain. Surely many were the times they wished, if even for a moment, they had chosen to obey God. No matter what the great deceiver said. No matter if it seemed unfair. No matter if that tree had been the only food left in the Garden. Surely they wished they would have simply obeyed God.
Perhaps you are there too. Perhaps you have found yourself choosing the path of least resistance because the alternative seems too difficult, too painful, too unpleasant. It probably isn’t panning out too well. Failure to follow God never does. It reeks with constant striving, endless stress, debilitating doubt, and immense fear. The only way to find the peace and rest and contentment you seek is to follow the Voice of truth. God’s voice. His words. His commands.
Friend, you can chase down all the things of the world. You can follow every whim and wish and dream and plan your finite mind can imagine. You can attain fame and fortune, friends and followers, but you cannot attain Heaven unless you choose to solely follow the Voice of truth. No matter who says differently. No matter what looks easier. Regardless of what offer comes your way. Choose truth. Choose obedience. Choose God. For today. For tomorrow. For forever. (Mark 10:29-31; I Samuel 15:22; James 4:7; Luke 11:28; Romans 8:28; Matthew 7:14; Ephesians 6:6)