When Little Eve Bit the Apple

(This is Writing Assignment #1 for the Redemption Writing Project. You can view the first post in this series here. .)

I was five, or maybe four, and sitting in a folding chair in the last row of a church auditorium in Dallas, Texas, the city where Dad flew mail airplanes in the day while he studied for his Seminary degree at night. And on this warm Texas night, sitting inside the cool 1980’s church auditorium, my four year old self gazed across a sea of empty chairs to a mostly bare stage. Center-stage stood a crude wooden table, and on that table, in a wooden bowl, sat four waxy-bright red apples.

During his Texas-seminary days (and beyond), Dad acted in church pageants—playing the part of Peter or Herod or Joseph. I never saw Dad more alive than when he was on stage acting real anger, fear, love, or hate. At home, Dad was like a star in a night constellation—so distant, so cold—and I wished that my vibrant church-pageant Dad was my at-home Dad. And perhaps Dad’s church-pageant days is where I got the idea that wearing a mask—hiding the true self behind fake feeling—is the way to really live.

But on this particular night in Texas, I was sitting in the church auditorium after a pageant practice, and as my parents chatted nearby, my tummy grumbled, and all I could see was that bowl of red apples on center-stage. They were beautiful to the eyes, and I wanted one.

I knew these apples weren’t for eating, at least, not for me. But as my parents laughed with fellow-pageant people, I found my black patent shoes hop-skipping up the aisle to the front of the auditorium, and as adults mingled round me, I hopped onto the stage and wandered towards those Garden-of-Eden apples on the handmade table.

Beside the wooden table, I stood on my tiptoes, gazing up at those red orbs of sweetness. My tummy growled. I was just going to look, but then I thought: “Who would notice one tiny bite?”

So in a flash I snatched one apple, the biggest, dug my front teeth into the flesh, and then quickly dropped the apple back in the bowl—bite side down—and dashed off the stage and back down the aisle to where my parents stood visiting.

And, in my memory, as I stood behind my mother’s red dress, a robed figure (one of the other actors) walked onto the stage, picked up a microphone, and in an ominous Edger Allen Poe voice, he said: “Who took the bite out of the apple?”

And my heart panicked: Did he see me? Will he tell my parents? Where can I hide?

How can a person hide the truth in the wide-open world when everyone’s watching?

There was no good hiding place in the back row of the church auditorium. So I hid in the wide open by standing behind my mother’s red skirt and looking at the ground.

And when the robed figure left his microphone, grabbed the apple, and made his way down the aisle, stopping at each person asking, “Did you see who took the bite out of this apple?” I hunched my shoulders and prayed God would make me invisible.

When the robed figure walked up to my parents, I held my breath and prayed I wouldn’t be branded the naughty-apple-biter. I stared hard at the floor—hiding my naked face, fearing my guilt would betray my crime.

And the robed man chuckled as he stood beside my mother and me, his robe hem brushing against my little leg, and he said to my parents: “Just who, do you suppose, took a bite out of this apple?” And my parents chuckled knowing chuckles . . . .

And I—little Eve in the flesh—hid my eyes, refusing to stare at the naked apple marred by my white teeth.

And in my memory, I was never “found out,” at least, no one in-my-face accused me of being the naughty-apple-biter. But given the knowing chuckle-laughs of my parents and the robed man, perhaps they knew all along and just wrote off my crime as the silliness of a hungry four-year-old.

And I can’t help but wonder—is that when it began? The covering of naked shame by hiding?  Perhaps the hiding did start then, but I can’t know for sure . . . .

But this I know for sure: over they years, I traded the clumsy hiding tactics of my four year-old self—averted face and eyes—for the veneer of God talk and God actions. I hid an empty, hurting heart behind the words: God is sovereign, God is good! I hid a heart at war with God by singing in the choir and teaching Sunday School.

Just like Eve in the garden, I bought the lie that I could hide my naked shame and hurt from God.

But God wasn’t fooled.

For the truth is: “Light has come into the world, but [everyone] loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil.  Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed.” (John 3:19-20).

Just like Eve in the garden—I hid for fear that my deeds and words would be exposed for what they were—empty and lifeless.

But God’s word also says, “[Jesus is] the light of the world. Whoever follows [him] will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

And it would take a myriad of years and much pain before four-year-old Eve grew up and traded empty, lifeless words and deeds for walking in the Light of Life . . . .

For those of you on the writing journey with me:

Writing Assignment #2

Part I: . Look up the meaning of your name in a book or on the internet. What personality traits does this meaning suggest and how do they relate to who you are? What aspects don't fit you? Why were you given your name? (Relative, biblical character, athlete, etc) What is the significance of your family name? What names have you been given (such as peacemaker, dumb jock,, slut, brain, trouble-maker, etc.) that do not fit who you are? What name do you desire God to call you? According to scripture, what does God call you?

Part 2: Think of a scene in your life where you were given a name, called a name, or lived up to your name (good or bad). It should be a scene that contains strong emotion. In your writing focus more on your emotions in the scene and try to capture them in your writing. Think about how the emotions affected you  physically and try to capture that as well. At the end of this scene, reflect on how this event with Naming affected how you view yourself, for good or ill.