Leota's Garden (44 page)

She waited for several seconds. Too bad the sound of the freeway could be heard from a block away. Oh, well. It was as quiet as it was going to be. “And then the Lord said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light!” She lit a long match and touched the candlewick inside the first pumpkin. “God separated the light from the darkness and made day and night. He separated the waters so there were seas and there was an atmosphere around the earth. He spoke and the waters rolled back and dry land appeared and mountains rose. He made the sun and the moon and the stars so we would have seasons and signs in the heavens to tell us when something very important was happening.”

The candlelight glowed through the carvings of sun, moon, and stars on the pumpkin.

“God spoke again, and there were fruit trees and every kind of vegetation. He spoke and the oceans teemed with living creatures from the smallest plankton to the great sea monsters that live in the deepest parts of the ocean. He spoke and there were beasts upon the earth—tigers and bears and rabbits and mice, elephants and lizards and frogs
and grasshoppers and ants. And everything was good and perfect and beautiful.”

She lit another pumpkin that had animals, fish, and birds carved around it. They looked as though they were running, swimming, and flying round and round.

“When all was ready, when plants were making air to breathe, and animals and birds and fish were bringing sound and movement, the Lord bent down and took dust from the earth and formed a man. He made the man in the image of Himself, and then He breathed into the man’s nostrils the breath of life. He took this man and placed him in a garden He had prepared. God brought all the creatures He had made before the man and let him name them. They belonged to the man in the same way you belong to your mothers and fathers who named you. But there wasn’t a creature anywhere suitable to be a helper to the man, so the Lord made him fall asleep. He took a rib from the man’s side and made a woman for him. She was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, and they were perfect for one another.”

She lit the third pumpkin, and a man and woman holding hands were illumined. “The man’s name was Adam, and his wife’s name was Eve, and they lived together with God in the Garden of Eden. Life was perfect.”

“What’s so scary about this?” Nile snorted in disgust. “I’ve heard this story a hundred times in Sunday school. It’s boring!”

Annie hunkered down. She lowered her voice and continued. “God also made other creatures called angels and seraphim and cherubim. These creatures were to serve the Lord God, to worship and praise Him, and to minister to all the men and women who would come from Adam and Eve. One was very beautiful. In fact, he was the most beautiful creature God created. His name was Lucifer, and he became so proud of his beauty that he thought he was as good as God. Not only that, he thought he should also have the power of God. So he fought a war in heaven and God cast him out, along with those angels who sided with Lucifer. One-third of the angels in heaven fell to the earth.”

She lit another candle and falling angels shone. “They’re still here. And they are still warring against God. Lucifer goes by other names. Terrible names. Names you know and fear: Satan, Beelzebub, Serpent of Old. And his helpers are called . . . demons.”

Kenya climbed into her mother’s lap. Arba patted her shoulder.

“Satan, appearing as a serpent, slithered into the garden God had made for Adam and Eve. The serpent spoke to Eve, saying, ‘Has God said you shall not eat of any tree in the garden?’ Now God had told them they could eat of any tree in the garden but one, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Eve was confused by Satan’s question and said God had told them they could eat from any of the trees except that one, and they weren’t even to touch it or they would die. The evil one said, ‘Surely you won’t die.’ Satan lied to Eve and told her if she ate from the tree, she would be just like God. Eve thought that sounded wonderful, so she went and looked at the forbidden tree. It was very beautiful, as was everything in God’s garden, and she wanted what Satan said she could have. So she took the fruit and ate it.”

“She was stupid,” Nile said.

Annie turned the pumpkin around so they could see the candlelight shining through the carvings on the other side—a woman holding something out to the man. “Then she gave the fruit to her husband, and he ate as well. Adam knew better, but he did it anyway, and with that single act of disobedience, sin entered the world and brought death with it.”

Leota watched the faces of the children as Annie wove Bible stories together in one long stream of God’s love from the beginning. Annie changed her voice and expressions and gestured dramatically to bring the stories to life. Her granddaughter held the children’s attention like the Pied Piper.

“Is Satan real?” Little Harry’s almond-shaped eyes were uncertain.

Annie nodded solemnly. “Yes, he is real. I’m not making any of this up, Do Weon. Everything I’m telling you is the truth. Satan isn’t a devil with horns wearing a red suit and carrying a pitchfork. He’s a real spirit being, who roams the world like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. And his demons help him. Satan is the father of lies and a murderer. No good comes from him.”

Lin Sansan looked distressed, and poor little Kim, her daughter, looked ready to cry. She got up from the floor and crawled into her
mother’s lap. Lin Sansan glanced at Juanita and Arba and then at Leota, clearly uncertain as to what she should do—stay and listen, or leave. Leota figured it was the constraints of politeness that kept her in her seat. The woman seemed very shy, and Leota doubted the little lady could stand to bring attention to herself. So she sat, clutching her daughter to her, listening to Annie talk about things that clearly frightened the woman.

Do Weon leaned forward. “What happened when God found out?”

“He was very sad and very angry. But He still loved Adam and Eve. So He made the first blood sacrifice. He killed an animal and made clothing from its skin for Adam and Eve. Then He made them leave the Garden. Ever since that time people have had to work very hard to make a living. We have pain and sorrow. We’re afraid. We hurt one another in all kinds of terrible ways. We’re all just like Adam and Eve. We have a sin nature now. Even when we know what’s right, sometimes we do wrong. And it only takes one little sin to make you a sinner. Adam and Eve couldn’t be with God anymore, not like they had been in the Garden when He walked and talked with them face-to-face.”

Kim snuggled closer to her mother. “Does God hate us, too?”

“Oh, no, sweetheart. God loved them still and He loves us, too. He’s our Father, and He wants us back again very much. Right from the beginning, God knew we would make bad choices. So He had already made a plan to provide us with a way back to Him. And He promised that to Adam and Eve after they sinned. He would give us a Messiah.”

Leota loved the way Annie said the word
Messiah
. She made it sound mysterious and wondrous. With Annie’s encouragement, the children repeated it. “Messiah,” they said in the same tone as Annie. The clock chimed seven, but none of the children noticed. They edged closer, listening as Annie told them about Cain murdering his brother, Abel . . . how evil became rampant in the world until God decided to destroy everyone but Noah and his family. She told them about Abraham and his sons, then about Joseph in Egypt. They sat quietly through Moses and the deliverance of the Israelites and the giving of the law.

“The law was good and perfect and given by God, but it was also a terrible burden. People needed the law to learn to obey God again, but the law also taught the men, women, and children they couldn’t obey every one of them. There were so many laws about so many things, no
one, not a single person, could keep them all. Some didn’t care, but others wanted to please God. The problem was, if you broke one law, that made you a lawbreaker and a sinner. And the punishment for sin is . . .”

“Death,” the children said when she pointed to the pumpkin she had lit illuminating a skull and crossbones.

“And the people cried out, ‘Oh, Lord, when will the Messiah come?’” She smiled at the children. “Say that with me . . .”

“Oh, Lord, when will the Messiah come?” the children echoed, following her lead as she pointed to another pumpkin illuminating her carving of a man with his hands raised to the heavens.

“Hundreds of years passed by, and there were terrible wars and famines and droughts. Death and Satan never take a holiday. The people would follow the laws and try to be good, and then they would forget again and be very, very bad. God would send men called prophets to call them back to Him.
I am your Father. I love you. Come to Me. Come to Me.
Sometimes the people would listen and repent. When they didn’t, their enemies would come and take them captive and drag them away from their homes and make them slaves. And then the people would cry out again.”

“Oh, Lord, when will the Messiah come?”

Leota noticed Lin Sansan was even saying it now, right along with her daughter, and Arba and Juanita.

“A thousand years passed. And another thousand. And more. When God knew it was exactly the right time, He sent an angel named Gabriel to a young girl named Mary and told her she was going to have a baby and that baby was going to be God’s only begotten Son, Jesus, the
Messiah
.”

“What’s
begotten
mean?” Kim peered out at Annie from the safety of her mother’s arms.

“It means that God was going to place that child inside Mary. Instead of a man being the father of Jesus, God was going to be His Father. Mary was confused, too, Kim. She asked Gabriel how she could have a child when she had never been with a man, and Gabriel told her that God Himself, the Holy Spirit, was going to overshadow her, and she would become pregnant. And that’s what happened. God saw to everything, even to providing Mary with a godly husband named Joseph. He was a carpenter.”

Leota leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She was exhausted. Maybe it was helping Annie carve so many pumpkins, or the excitement of having company fill the house. Still, it felt good to have the house full of children. Children had seldom come to the house when Eleanor and George were young. Mother Reinhardt had never encouraged it, feeling two were enough for her to handle. This was the way Leota had dreamed her house would be. Filled with friends and neighbors.

“When Joseph and Mary reached Bethlehem, Mary was ready to have Jesus,” Annie went on. “They couldn’t find a place to stay. They finally had to go out to a stable, which was probably nothing more than a cave in a hillside outside the town. Mary and Joseph were so poor all they could do when Jesus was born was wrap Him in some cloths and tuck Him into some hay in an animal’s feeding trough.”

She lit another pumpkin. “But an amazing thing happened as soon as Jesus was born. A new star shone in the heavens. It was a sign from God, who had made everything in the universe, that He had sent the Messiah at last. Sadly, not very many people even noticed that star. Maybe they were inside their houses and didn’t pay any attention. But men who studied the stars noticed it in the heavens. In fact, some of them followed that star right out of their own country. They knew it meant that someone of great significance had been born, a king or a god, and they wanted to find him and worship him. They didn’t know Jesus was the King of kings and
the
God, the only God, the one who had created everything that ever was or ever would be. . . .”

Leota leaned back, listening to Annie’s voice as she talked about the angel’s visit, about King Herod butchering babies, about Mary and Joseph fleeing to Egypt . . .

Egypt. The land of sorrows.

“Out of Egypt God would call the Messiah.”

Is Egypt only a country, Lord? Or a state of mind? How long was I in Egypt before You sent Annie to bring me over the rivers of self-pity into the Promised Land of plenty? I am so full, Jesus. Too full some days with the house overrun by children. And yet, I still crave more. I long for my own children to come home to me. Is this how You’ve felt all through the centuries since the beginning of time? I want to cry out to Eleanor and George and weep. Why are they so stubborn? Why won’t they turn to me? Why won’t they seek the truth about anything?

Sometimes—though she hated to admit it—Leota wished she’d never had children.
Do You ever feel like that, Lord? And yet, if I hadn’t had Eleanor, I wouldn’t have this sweet, unsullied young woman in my life now. I wouldn’t be able to sit and hear Your story told all over again from the lips of someone who adores You. I’d be all alone, waiting to die.
Maybe all the sorrow was worth this bit of precious time. Leota had a daughter who despised her, but from Eleanor came this granddaughter who had become the apple of Leota’s eye, her comfort in her old age.

But for how long, Lord? She’s so young and so beautiful. I’ve seen the way Sam looks at her. And even Corban is beginning to have that look in his eyes, despite his attachment to another. How long before Annie becomes bored with an old lady who is getting more decrepit by the day?