The Beginning - November 1st.

Her womb was full. She felt the change immediately. Something, like the first slivers of daylight at dawn, had awakened inside of her. Hope edged her cold heart, sliced into it smoothly creating a sensation that was impossible to overlook. She was old and she was barren. Her child, the child promised to her in her youth, the child spoken of and destined to grow within her womb had never been conceived within her. His appearance was always a mere illusion. She could feel him, she could see him, she could hear him and observe his countenance within her minds eye but such a child was not meant to grace her arms in the flesh. He was a creature of spirit. His character and integrity intact and heroic, he was a spirit being dwelling in a spirit realm. And he would remain there, the offspring of angels, not of mere woman. She knew this to be so, while suspecting it to be false.


She, herself, was a maiden of detestable roots and grew eating of the fruits of her mothers bad taste and her father’s ill favoured shame. Raised on the traditions of guilt and of restitution she paid her allegiance to the God of the promise; the father of the spirit child who had never graced her womb with his presence. This God whose favour graced her brow and who, because of his love for her, had determined within his heart to pour himself into her womb and give her, her promised child was a God of justice and of love. A God whose spoken word called forth both life and death, a God to be feared, to be revered and to be loved. He, in his majesty, had created from earth the body of her father and breathed his own breath into his nostrils setting him in a position of authority above all but himself. Finding the creation of her father pleasing to Himself and desiring to complete the expression of his glory He took a rib and fashioned her mother.


Together as companions dwelling side by side they had lived and prospered as the intimate companions of the God of the promise. They felt no shame and were not shackled by bondages. There was no fear within them, there was no hatred, no hurt, no lack of joy or peace. They lived a life of abundance in the paradise they called home free to remain so long as they were loyal to their Almighty God and obeyed his commands. However, her parents had not remained loyal to the command of their Almighty God and they did the one thing that he had warned them would spell their death sentence and banishment from his bosom.


Within paradise sprouted and grew a tree with twisting fibrous trunk and thick seeking branches extended to catch the bounty of the overflow of heaven. God watered this tree with wisdom and with tears and the fruit it bore were large and round and full of the bitter sweetness which the knowledge of good and evil inspires. It was a quiet tree, short in stature and dignified. Birds did not land in it’s branches to build their nests, nor did any of the animals eat of it’s fruit or frolic beneath it’s canopy. It was respected and reserved for God Almighty, the Promise God.


This forbidden tree, its branches heavy with fruit, was an object of speculation for her parents. They reasoned that the fruit must be the food of God; but this answer did not satisfy them for they had feasted on the fruit of the other trees with God and had never seen him approach the tree to pluck fruit from it’s branches. They wondered as to the purpose of the tree and skirted it respectfully, all while discreetly lifting their eyes to view it’s reaching branches in a way that made their spines tingle with a feeling they could not put a name to.


The issue of the tree became prominent within their thoughts. Their desire to know the purposed secret of the tree burned within them, distracting them from their work and causing their eyes to wander and rest upon the tell tale sight within the middle of the garden. They began to work within close proximity of the tree, preferring its silent sturdiness to the hum of life sustained within the rest of the garden. The closer they worked to the tree, the closer they desired to be to it. The appeal was nearly overpowering and it distracted and grew within them until their curiosity had become an over whelming force to be reckoned with. The intake of air brought with it the frustration of suspense and a straining of their will that wore upon them making relief impossible to attain. When it could be tolerated no longer they walked, their feet tense, their foot falls springy and uncertain, darting between trees, feigning the casual picking of fruit, voices high and surreal as they teased one another as they might have done ordinarily, both knowing that what they were doing was completely out of the ordinary. Until they were there, not more than thirty paces from the tree and silent stillness overtook them. They gave their eyes free reign to stare up at it’s branches, to trace the lines of it’s trunk, to discover themselves tantalized by the appealing shape of the fruit and they found that what they saw was even more lovely, even more majestic than they had imagined it to be before.


Mesmerized they stood, delighting in the magnitude of the tree, enjoying it’s appeal, desiring it’s company until her father had instinctively stepped forward his hands extended to stroke the rough texture of the bark. Alarmed but not compelled to fear, her mother had reached out and touched his arm the words of God alive in her ears only to be reassured by her fathers declaration that, "They would not eat the fruit. They would just sit beneath it's branches." Satisfied by this reply her mother had taken her father’s hand and together they walked to the tree and extended their hands to embrace the bark. The sensations which played across their skin as they embraced the ancient trunk were intoxicating and wonderful, never before had they felt something so lovely.

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She served him. But the voices of the other gods were not entirely lost to her. She heard their hearty declarations. Witnessed the revelry and freedom of their servants and knew the apparent weakness of her God for his desire to fill her womb full of a life such as the one she had been promised. The delay in her pregnancy, her obvious lack of youth and the oppression of her body demanding that she maintain a hollow womb collided with the handsome faces and illicit tales of the deeds performed by the gods lounging with laughing faces and drunken merriment around her. She imagined the child to be one of these gods. He had refused to enter her womb. He had demanded his rightful place among the gods and he would maintain it. He would not enter the womb of a woman. He would not be so undignified as to stoop so low. Why should he? Why should he volunteer the power and strength of his form to redeem the life of a heavily aged woman? In no way did it make sense. In no way was it logical, reasonable or tolerable.


She had given up hope, had denied it an audience with her. After all, how long was she expected to keep hope in this promise child? This child who refused to fill her undignified womb. How could she continue to hope for him? How could she as the mother of such a child desire to see him born knowing the demeaning status his birth would shackled him with? If such a child were to fill her womb she might be better off, for the sake of the child, to kill him immediately, to toss him away from herself in horror and refuse to nurse him. To end his humiliation and to end her own.


Yet the promise came faithfully. Every month her womb would weep blood and her abdomen would ache as though anticipating the travails of childbirth. The blood of her promised redemption would drain from her body, foreshadowing the birth of her warrior son whose sword would be stained red by the blood of her enemies. His loins would be girded with truth and justice and he would wield a flaming sword against that which had shamed her for so long. The promise came, but with it the continual emptiness of her womb. Her discouragement and her doubt hardened her heart against the conception of the child.


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Fragments wrote today. Word Count: 1482


So far I'm calling it, Israel.

Love Always,
Cole.