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Some things are not meant for eyes to see. But I saw it, and everything changed.
I was growing quite fond of my Garden rabbit routine. Awake with the sun, drink from the brook, dine in the greens; this truly was Paradise. All was new, all was fresh, all was good; and greatest of all—all was at peace.
Lion and lamb, rhino and rabbit, dingo and dove, it mattered not; we were all friends and the animal fellowship was grand. Tears did not fall and pain was just a word. The Garden was Paradise.
Alas, it was about to end.
Near the Garden’s center I lived, just a few carrot tosses from Two Trees. At first morning’s light, I peered from my hole. As I did, I was nearly imprinted by the feet of Eden’s woman. She was taking a morning Garden stroll and had not seen me appear from night’s rest.
I thought I saw something new scribbled on this one’s face. Was it discontent? Finding it odd, I followed the one called Eve. Approaching Two Trees, a serpent she met. Though we animals did not know this sleek one well, he appeared different this morn.
A subtle craftiness had given way to something deeper, something sinister. It was if someone peered through the serpent’s eyes. The look made me cold; there was a shiver in the air. I wanted to leave but hesitated when words exchanged between the pair.
I could not hear all, but bits and pieces were enough. A question was posed: “Did God really say…?” The serpent wished the woman to eat of the fruit. This I could not believe. The Creator made it clear; the Garden was given to enjoy, but Two Trees was not to be touched—yet the serpent coaxed.
I cried, “Stop this treason; you must not eat! Stop, stop!” She did not hear. I shouted once more, “You must not do it, remember the Creator!” She would not hear me.
I must tell you this. There was something different about the woman. I know this strange; though she stood alone she stood for many—pondering the serpent’s words. It is difficult to explain.
Her decision made; a bite was taken. I must mention the man, too. At some point he came along; quietly following and simply standing by; he would take his own bite. And when they both did something very great died.
I sensed it all around. The stench poured forth. It was an odor, it was a feeling, and it swallowed everything; the woman, the man, the animals—even the Garden took on a heavy and dark smell.
I still do not understand. The Garden was perfect. The Creator walked with us. It was Paradise. And you humans changed it. I think you did it because you wanted to be the Creator; to be your own god. That is my guess.
Why would you not be obedient?
The relationship between you humans and the Creator changed that day when that bite was taken. A very great distance came between you. How will your relationship ever be restored?With much regret, The Rabbit
Note to reader: This is chapter 2 in the series, “If They Could Talk,” which is the story of our redemption through the eye-witness accounts of animals who found themselves at key redemptive moments. The target audience is children; that they might better understand the Bible and God’s plan of salvation as it unfolds in Scripture. This is the story of the Fall from Genesis 3. Other eye-witness accounts are here.