The Fall - By Chana Keefer

CHAPTER Sixteen

Out of the Womb



So long ago but the memory was fresh.

For one moment more, Rapha was before his Maker and his celestial family, his heart breaking but resolved. Theirs was a farewell without words. He remembered the eyes, full of love and compassion and another emotion not typical among his celestial brothers—regret.

Rapha could feel himself changing. The core of his being was cooling, his light was going out. Or was it being veiled? There was no time to ponder as the eyes of Adonai filled his vision and the Holy One’s thoughts flooded his being.

“Yours, Rapha, son of light, is a difficult path. Your choice is to accompany the man and woman into banishment. Therefore, throughout this age, you will remain among men, angelic in understanding and unfading in body. You, of all my celestial forces, will learn the ways of men from the inside, as one of them. But you will also drink deeper of their pain. You will be a stranger in a strange land, equipped to guide, teach, and protect those who are crucial to My plan of redemption. Your body will obey the natural laws of Earth, yet many of your angelic gifts will remain. Take heed, though, that these gifts are used only at My specific direction.”

Love. Pure love flooded Rapha’s being. Heat passed through. A flash and it was done. His body rearranged, conformed to another rhythm, another realm. He was a bird now being suited to thrive beneath crashing waves, but the memory of flight would endure.

Then Rapha was moving, it must be north, since the lowering sun was on his left. Adonai and the celestials were removed from his sight but Adonai’s words continued to fill his mind.

“By choosing to serve mankind, you become part of their fate, to know My love through the knowledge of good and evil. Always remember, I Am with you through the pain.”

Solid ground was beneath Rapha and he was alone, at least he could not discern any companions with his altered eyes. The sunlight was fading. He looked down at his own body to discover woolen and leather raiment much like that created for Adam and Eve, as well as leather coverings for his feet. The need for clothing would take getting used to, since light had been his only garment since time immemorial.

Now he would require food, water, shelter—a whole new set of needs.

And his body was… tired. The concept of requiring sleep had always intrigued him. His questions in that regard would soon be answered.

He wrapped the garment tighter, discovering the upper part would pull up to cover his head. So he lay upon the ground, too exhausted to move.

With the last of his strength on that fateful day he probed the world with his thoughts. The shared consciousness of heavenly hosts was lost. He gasped as a wave of loneliness flooded his body. Like a starving newborn babe he groped for Adonai, at last sensing an answer to his heart’s cry as his soul was immediately cradled in peace.

But what of Adam and Eve?

He stretched his senses again, almost afraid to learn the truth. Then Rapha sighed with huge relief. Though it was difficult, and untold miles stood between him and his former students, the ability to connect to their thoughts remained. There were Adam and Eve, their minds as muddled and their hearts as broken as his.

The effort had drained the last of his strength.

Just then he heard rustling in the bushes followed by a bleat and a sharp woof. A moment later the fuzzy muzzle of the dog, Eden, was sniffing Rapha’s ear as several warm, wooly bodies gathered close in the darkness.

With a breath of thanks to Adonai, Rapha, estranged son of the heavens, slept.


It was a brutal awakening for Adam and Eve. Their bodies ached; their hearts were numb, and their minds reeled as they tried to grasp the reality of their new circumstances. However, practical matters forced immediate action. A quick survey of the surrounding area yielded the discovery of a clear stream and a cave that would provide temporary shelter, a pressing need made obvious by several large paw prints close to where they had slept. It was so strange to think they would need to defend themselves against wildlife, those creatures with which they had formerly dwelt in peace.

The surrounding trees, while not as verdant as those within the garden, yielded nuts and berries. Also, the girl’s knowledge of roots and herbs yielded several edible plants in the vicinity. Feeding themselves, while requiring attention they were unaccustomed to, at least was possible.

They were not entirely bereft—except for company. Their social life in the garden had been abundant. The many personalities and fascinating areas of expertise among the angels had provided constant mental stimulation, and the wildlife in attendance had ensured their lives overflowed with color, laughter, and affection. Beyond all this, with their Heavenly Father’s visits they had lived entirely fulfilled, in peace and effortless love. Now, they had only each other.

For the first few weeks, they spoke hardly a word. They scarcely had the energy. Adam had decided a house of stone afforded the most reliable protection, so his days were spent gathering and transporting them to their home’s intended site, a glen nestled in the arms of the mountain range, close to the stream and with a gorgeous view of the valley beyond. Their home would face the rising sun. From the position of nighttime stars he had surmised their former dwelling lay in that direction. It was a painful memory, but he felt compelled to remind himself on a daily basis that it had once been real.

Eve moved in a fog of sadness through her tasks. Her heart ached for her former friends and the creatures she had loved. But most of all she felt the loss of those precious early evening hours reclining in the arms of Adonai. The mornings were busy as she dug for the dense clay Adam required to fill chinks between the stones of their dwelling and gathered the roots, nuts and berries for their daily food. Their hard work left little time for reminiscence but she was finding it increasingly difficult to work without pause as Adam was wont to do. Her tears would flow without warning at the sight of a pert bird cocking a bright eye her way or a wary fox skimming the edge of their glen, its tiny pup tagging behind. In those moments homesickness would consume her and memories would flow, complete with the smell of warm sun on the flank of the sleek jaguar that used to recline with her in the afternoon, suffering itself to be used as her pillow.

And something was happening in her body. She was especially achy in the mornings and her appetite, which had always been voracious, was waning. Often when she did force herself to eat, she would later sneak away because she felt the recent meal warring inside and forcing its way back up. She felt as if her body desired to rid itself of something that did not belong there. She could only surmise it was the result of the death Adonai had warned was their lot outside the garden.

Adam did not complain as he worked tirelessly on their new home. Of course, he never told her anything, just pounded and hauled with fervor from first light until he fell into the stream in the evening to wash away the day’s grime, ate their scant rations with gusto, and then wrapped himself in his woolen blanket and slept without moving until dawn.

She guessed he must despise the sight of her and held her responsible for their difficulties. She could not blame him. Anyway, from what she spied in the clear water when she bathed, she did not feel worthy of his gaze. Her flat stomach and supple, muscular legs, used to constant running and climbing, were becoming a bit soft—along with her eyes that cried too much and looked sad even when dry. Her breasts were even getting puffy. Perhaps that part he would appreciate—if he ever took notice. But his words were few. “Yes,” “No,” “Thank you.” And that was on a talkative day.

So the afternoon when she dug beside the water, scooping the dense clay into her baskets woven from the large leaves that grew along the river, her emotions were one tiny straw from collapse. That straw occurred when some of the clay lodged under one fingernail of her work-worn hands. As she placed the throbbing fingers in the cool water, the rough skin mocked her. Her nails and hands had been perfection—Adam had told her so—now they were like the rest of her; puffy and scraped free of her former beauty.

She studied her reflection, hating what she saw. No wonder he never looked at her. That sniveling, frightened coward was a disgrace. Ignoring the protest from her abused fingers she scooped a handful of the stubborn clay and launched it directly at those eyes, and the image scattered in a satisfying chaos of ripples. More! With both hands she dug and threw, rage overflowing unchecked in a heavy, muddy downpour. Again and again she grabbed and hurled, moans bubbling up from the abscess of her heart. She could never return. Adonai had rejected her. She was alone and without hope—unloved and unneeded—friendless and pathetic. Then she grabbed a stick to strike at all she had soiled—leaves, ground, water—all received the brunt of her rage until her surroundings at last resembled her emotions… shredded, bruised, and filthy.

And that was how Adam found his beautiful Eve, on her knees in the mud, sobbing with a grief that tore away the scars encasing his own heart. With bumbling fingers he lifted her muddy hair away from her face and gazed into her eyes to see her desperate need of him, a need that answered back from his own heart’s famine.

Together they wept and mourned, melding together in their grief, exposing their hearts and finding healing in shared pain. Then they removed their soiled garments and plunged into the shallow waters to scrub each other’s hair and aching muscles until, finally, the flowing water ran clean and they remembered how to smile.

And together they discovered the beauty of owning only one set of clothing. As their damp garments warmed in the sun, they finally found the beauty of love for which their Creator had molded them, a passion and tenderness that made them feel, for one shining moment, that they were back in Eden where they could ask for nothing more.