by Caryl McAdoo
Like the breeze whispering in the willows, the Almighty spoke to Adam’s heart.
TELL YOUR WOMAN SHE MUST REPENT
CHAPTER SIX
A gentle shaking pulled Abel into the neither between sleep and awake. For a star’s twinkle, he thought it Meve’s light touch then opened his eyes to reality. No one there, but the slight shaking continued. He rolled out of the sleeping nook and looked around for its source.
A puff of wind blew through him. His whole being trembled then filled with a warmth he had never known. The cherub appeared in the doorway and smiled. The mild breeze abruptly ended.
“What was that?”
“The Almighty speaking to your father.”
He remembered the many stories Padam told of talking with the Lord every day, walking with Him every evening in the Garden. Then on the mountain when the Almighty spoke to Cain. Just to hear His voice…. Abel’s heart swelled.
So awesome was the Lord God.
He faced Namrel. “What did He say?”
The angel shook his head and shrugged. “Only Adam and the Lord know.”
“So you didn’t hear either? We could feel it though. How come?”
“Me, because I am an angel. You, because you are no longer hindered by the mortal flesh.”
No flesh? Abel rubbed one hand with the other. “But, my hands.” He turned them back to front. “If this isn’t my body, what is it?” He bounced his fingertips together several times then tugged on the robe that fit like a second skin. “And this robe?”
Namrel laughed. “It’s your soul and spirit now clothed with a portion of God’s glory.”
Abel stepped to the angel and touched his hand. “And you?”
“I am flesh, though different from what you were, and I, like you, wear Eloheim’s glory.”
“But you told me that when an angel had been in God’s presence, he must go to the temple made without hands until the glory returned to the Lord.”
“True.”
“Then tell me.” He picked at his robe. “Why has this not returned?”
“Good question.” His teacher moved toward the window then seated himself, neatly tucking his wings. “My brothers and I often ponder the same. Except for our garments, the Creator is very jealous of His glory. We know not why.”
Abel nodded, as he sat on a stool across from him. “So where is Abba?”
“In Third Heaven.”
“And where’s that?”
Namrel looked up then closed his eyes. When they opened, he asked a question of his own. “Have you ever gazed at the stars?”
“Of course. Many nights.”
“And did you ever try to number them?”
“Yes, Cain and I oft did, but never finished.”
“That’s because they are numberless, save by God. He even has the sum of our feathers counted.”
Abel smiled, grabbed a handful of his locks. “And the hairs on my head. Padam said so.”
The old angel slightly unfolded then tucked away his wings again, like their mention gave them need to move. Abel grinned. Just like Meve always moved her hands when she talked.
“Far past the stars you could see from the edge—First Heaven—exist many, many more balls of fire. In all, seven massive rings of countless stars. Second Heaven is where the warring takes place between those who fight for Good and Evil and those who battle for Life. Beyond is God’s throne—the Third Heaven.”
“How far? Do you know?”
Namrel shook his head. “We have no need to measure. An angel traverses great distances through the corridors in the blink of an eye. We know not how the Lord built them, and only God’s messenger, Gabriel, knows them all. When I flew from Third Heaven to Paradise, it took only forty and one hundred flaps of the triplet’s mighty wings. I counted.”
“The triplets? You speak of the three, but who are they?”
“Archangels, the last three of our kind created just before the Creator fashioned your father. I was the first of my division. There are also the Seraphim, lovely multi-winged beings. And the host. You have met Centurion of that division.”
“Yes, are they all that big?”
Shaking his head, Namrel stood and stretched his wings. “Thank God, no. Then lastly, the triplets, the archangels. Gabriel first, God’s messenger. Michael next, Eloheim’s builder and warrior. Then Lucifer, not only the last angel to be created, but the most beautiful; a musician, you know. Oh, the symphony he makes. Created to lead in praise and worship, but he wanted more.” The cherub stared at the stone floor. “The tempter wooed a third of heaven’s host to join in his Rebellion with his songs.”
Abel sorted the names and ranks of angels using the words of the cherub. He would love to see all of the divisions and know the whole story of creation. “There’s so much more than I ever would have guessed. And I want to learn it all.”
“Which is why the Almighty sent me.” The angel turned his face toward the window then pointed. “Ah, look. A visitor. Come. I will introduce you.”
Abel cleared the stone house, but saw no one. He turned. “Where? Were you mistaken?”
His teacher stretched his left wing, smiled, then directed his attention toward the far meadow. A magnificent ram pawed the ground.
“Lamb? Is it Meve’s Lamb?”
“Indeed.”
Abel raced to meet his mother’s childhood pet. Lamb lifted his head, bleated, then bounded toward him. A blur of tawny gold came from his right. Lion, Lamb, and Abel converged in the center of the meadow. For the longest, he played with the animals rolling and romping in the sweet grasses as though living in one of Padam’s garden stories.
The great cat tired first and stretched out in a bed of clover at the meadow’s edge. With gentle nudges of his horns, it appeared Lamb tried to entice him to more play, but Lion refused to budge. Finally, the ram snuggled next to his friend, and both slept.
Abel sat cross-legged and studied the animals. Lion’s size amazed him. His father often told a story of when he first rode the big cat. His voice sprang to Abel’s ear.
“I was only two springs.” His father’s soothing baritone pacified him again as though he spoke from the next room.
“Lion would not cooperate. I’d get on his back when he lay down, but the big kitty wouldn’t get up. I wanted a ride, and he would just lie there.” His father always smiled then and shook his head, especially when telling Sheriah.
“So later that day, after our nap, I slipped away and crouched in the tall grasses.” At this point in his storytelling, he cupped his hands and whistled like the tiny sparrow.
“It’s the game!” Sheriah clapped her little hands. “It’s the hide-and-seek game.”
“You are right. That was our signal.”
Padam would get on the floor and act like the great cat. Abel could see it again now, but all the better since meeting the animals. The sight warmed his soul almost as much as God’s voice. “Lion.” His father growled, and Sheriah would squeal and cover her mouth. “Always crept after me trying to find where I hid.
“The grasses to my left rustled. I held my breath, then jumped. I got one leg almost over and grabbed two handfuls of Lion’s mane before he bolted, but I hung on. After a few man’s lengths, he slowed and glanced back. You should have seen the grin on his face.
“He took off again, and I rode without even holding on, save with my knees. After that, we raced through Eden like the wind all the time.”
Abel wished he could experience the exhilaration, but that was then, and this was now. He had grown much too big for a ride. He smiled at the thought and pushed himself up. Flowers lined the way back to the house. He bent to pick one then smelled the blossom. The fragrance made him dizzy. So intense. And the color shone more brilliant than any he’d ever seen on the edge.
Vibrant and somehow more alive, like everything in Paradise. He found Namrel scribbling in his book. “So, are you ready for more questions?”
The cherub looked up and set his qui
ll down. “If you have need.”
“I’ve never seen so many beautiful flowers. Nothing on the edge compares. Do you know why the colors and fragrances are so much more intense here?”
“Oh, yes. It is the breath of God that blows over them as it did us earlier today. That could be one answer, though many would be correct. Here, we are not under the curse of thorns and thistles as on the edge. All of the heavens and earth are sustained by the Creator, but in your father’s valley, water and starlight are necessary for growth. Here, it is not.”
“That reminds me, I’ve been wondering why I don’t need to eat or drink.”
“Only practices of the flesh. In Paradise, food and drink are solely for enjoyment. Anything you ate there, you will find here.”
“What about you? You are flesh. Do you eat to live?”
“No, but I may partake whenever I choose.”
“Then what sustains us?”
He smiled patiently. “Almighty God, the Creator of life.”
Abel rubbed his chin. He thought of so many questions, but each answer only raised more. “So Centurion warred with the minions in Second Heaven.”
Namrel nodded and pointed up. “That is correct. Living on the edge, you are most familiar with First Heaven, and God’s throne is in Third Heaven. Between is the second. On the edge, you saw with fleshly eyes, heard with ears of flesh. Second Heaven was concealed.”
“Why?”
“That is one question you will have to ask the Almighty.”
The fact that Namrel didn’t have all the answers reassured Abel a bit, and that the angel never referred to God as Abba. Another question came to mind, but the words faded as the sound of war reached his ears. “What’s that? Do you hear it?”
Namrel jumped to his feet and raced outside. Abel ran after. “Do they fly for Meve again?”
The cherub held his palm forward and cocked his head. “No, I hear the voices of two legions.” He stretched his wings and twirled. “At last! Michael has drawn out his brother.” He clapped his hands. “If only we could see.”
His excitement tickled Abel. The angel appeared more human with his uncommon display of emotion. “Why can’t we? We can hear. I thought since I didn’t have flesh –”
“Do not forget, Paradise is in the bowels of the earth. Even angels cannot see through solid rock.” A new battle song burst forth. “Shhh.” He listened hard, and Abel followed his example until the melody ended.
“Why do they fight, if not for Meve? Can you tell?”
The cherub folded his wings and faced Abel with a stoic expression. “They sing for your sister’s soul.”
Even came, but the war songs of the two legions continued. The ebb and flow of their battle intrigued Abel. Though he wanted to learn more, no opportunity to ask another question presented itself until finally, the music stopped altogether.
“It’s over?”
“No, my friend. Can you not hear?”
“Only a faint humming.”
“That means the quivers are empty.”
“And?”
“They tire of singing the old hymns. The first to find a new war song gains a great advantage.”
“What if I were to pray? Would that help?”
Namrel shook his head. “Only those living on the edge can have faith. You need none for you are here. Prayers must be prayed in faith—no doubt—if they are to be effective.”
“What about your book? Couldn’t one of them come and read it again, like Centurion?”
“They could try. However, if Michael sent a messenger, his fallen brothers would see and most probably stop him.”
Abel’s heart hurt. It seemed nothing he thought of would benefit his sister. He wished he could do something to help. So precious his Sheriah, and his love for her so great. Losing one’s soul sounded grave indeed. Did it mean Torment instead of Paradise?
“If Rebellion wins, is Sheriah lost?”
“Not necessarily. She has free will, but Lucifer’s persuasion is strong.”
At that exact moment, though the tempter’s song had yet to reach Sheriah’s soul, her husband entreated her. Cain cut off a piece of roasted meat and held it out. “I tell you, it’s good. Try a bite.”
She scooted back. “No. How many times must I say it? Day after day. I will not eat animals’ flesh.”
He popped the morsel into his mouth and chewed. “You don’t know what you’re missing. It’s delicious. Better than anything you’ve ever tasted.”
She looked away. Night drew near. In the same way long shadows blanketed the earth with deep gray shades, a darkness covered her soul. The dew that watered the earth rose from the ground and wet her, too. The night air chilled her to the bone.
And her stomach growled from hunger. The aroma of the meat made her mouth water, but she would never eat flesh. The very thought disgusted her.
“Want me to try and find you some berries? You should eat something. We have two more days before we reach Eden.”
She shook her head. “No more berries. They make me sick.” Sheriah pulled her wool cloak over her head and arranged it so she could watch her brother. She never should have come with him, but didn’t she have to? He was her husband. Soon they would be one flesh, as Meve and Padam.
Would she ever be happy and content again? Oh, if only things had been different.
“What if we’ve taken the wrong path? There are so many choices. What if the land east of Eden is as rocky and dry as this?” She kicked at the chalky gravel strewn everywhere.
“According to Padam’s remembrances, these bad lands only last another half day. Then we will be in the Valley of Eden.”
“Are you certain?”
“No, but I know well the story of when they left Eden, and so far, it’s been just as Padam said.”
“Will we ever see him again? Or Meve?” He didn’t answer, and her question hung in the air like a low cloud. She held her robe tight. “I’m wet and too cool.”
Her husband snuggled next to her and spread his cloak. “Sit here and stay dryer. Tomorrow things will be better.”
“I hope so, my feet can’t take much more of this mountain.”
Cain nodded then stiffened and grabbed his throat.
“What is it?” She threw back the cloak and searched for his attacker, but found nothing. He gurgled then shook. Pinkish spittle drooled from his lips. His eyes rolled back into his head. He jerked upright.
“Cain! What can I do?”
Whatever held him let go, and he crumbled. She grabbed his shoulders and laid him back, raking the rocks from beneath him as he stretched out. His eyes cleared, then he smiled.
“Brother, what was it?”
“A vision, wrapped in a song. Sheriah, it was wonderful. He showed me where we’re to go. There’s a place called Nod, east of Eden. It’s a land flowing with milk and honey.”
Sheriah didn’t answer. Just cuddled into his chest and listened to him describe his vision. Finally, she could hold her tongue no longer. “And who do you think showed you this vision?”
“God, of course.”
She weighed his answer for a few heartbeats then shook her head. “The snake was the craftiest in the garden.”
“No, the smartest. They didn’t die, remember?”
“Only because Lion and Lamb took their place.”
He raised up and stared at her. “How do we know that it was the way they said? I think it was God who showed me the vision. It was also God Who gave the roasted lamb that first night. He spoke to me in the wind.”
She made no comment, and he leaned back. Soon his breathing slowed, then he slipped into slumber. Listening to her husband’s sleep sounds, she turned her face skyward. “Oh Lord, protect me from the evil my brother calls good. Keep my lips pure and the abomination far from me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sounds of war faded. Abel faced the cherub. “Is it over?”
Namrel whistled then sang two notes. The portal opened, but Abel couldn�
�t hear anything. The angel shook his head. “I do not think so.”
“What then?”
“A truce, maybe.”
“What’s a truce?”
“Temporary cessation of hostilities.”
Abel scratched his head. Though he understood the words, how this affected his sister eluded him.
Namrel laughed. “They quit for a while like when you and Cain would stop fighting so you both could get a drink of water.”
“Yes, but why would Michael call a truce?”
“Who knows? But it does happen, especially when both sides have been badly decimated.”
Discussion of Heavenly Wars, past and present, carried the conversation awhile, then Namrel took his leave and retired to his room. Abel continued his vigil beneath the open portal.
He longed for news of Sheriah’s well being, though all the while the peace filling his heart amazed him. It passed far beyond human understanding. He’d never known such complete, consuming peace.
While he lived - though thinking of himself as dead still came hard - his sister never faced danger alone if he knew about it. He always raced to stand beside her, help her, deliver her. Now, helpless in Paradise, he could only listen and pray for Michael’s victory. “Oh, Lord, keep her safe.”
On the edge in the mist of his orchard, Adam too, prayed. With each sucker branch he snipped from the peach tree, he asked that the Lord give him strength and understanding. He turned his face skyward. “I did as You said.”
He waited for several heartbeats but no word came, and returned to his pruning. A little before short shadows, footsteps came toward him. It could only be his beloved, for she and he lived alone now. He didn’t stop his work.
Lord, soften her heart. Heal both our hearts.
“You hungry, Adam?”
He looked up. She stood fifteen paces away holding a basket and a jug of wine. Her red, swollen eyes told of her morning and of more tears.
The desire to give her what she wanted grew so strong, as too often in the past he had. But in his hearts of hearts, he knew the importance of waiting, resisting. If only he had listened to the Lord from the start.
