Have you ever thought about how different things would be if Adam and Eve hadn’t taken a bite of the apple? What if there was no sin? What if there had never been any sin? What if we always obeyed God?
First thing, I (Aimee) don’t know if it’s something that we can ever fully imagine, because sin is (sadly) so ingrained into our world. But, all the same, we can imagine it to some degree. What do you think that world would look like?
There would be no wars. I don’t think that we should assume that people would always agree on everything, but they would not resort to violence. In a perfect world, I think that people would know how to disagree and still respect one another. No one would ever die of starvation while others throw out food that they can’t finish. No one would be in want of anything because people would share. More importantly, I think that people wouldn’t be in want because they would know where their priorities lie and they wouldn’t waste time running after money and power and more stuff, more stuff, more stuff.
When humanity was cursed for Adam and Eve’s sin, the ground was cursed also. So, if there had never been sin, then people would not need to work to cultivate food or to grow plants that are used for other things. Stuff that we need would simply grow! And if it didn’t grow, it would be because we didn’t need it. Even technology wouldn’t have advanced so far because there wouldn’t have been a need. We wouldn’t need to know how to build a house that can stand up to a hurricane because there would be no hurricanes. We wouldn’t need to do research to discover how to cure diseases because there would be no diseases. Many jobs and careers that people do today would be obsolete either because it would be completely unnecessary or because people would take care of things themselves.
Without work, with more leisure time, I think that people would still be curious and creative, but in other ways. Art would probably flourish in a world without sin. People in such a world would recognize the beauty of the created world around them and desire to create beautiful works of art themselves. After all, that’s part of being created in the image of God: we have His creativity! We might still study the world the way that a scientist does in some respects, but this would be simply to better appreciate it rather than to determine how best to exploit it.
Of course, the biggest question is how would God’s presence change things?
One of the punishments for sin was that people were no longer allowed to live in the Garden in the presence of God. We were removed from Him. Separated. That’s part of what Jesus came to restore.
So, what would it be like to live in His continual presence? To walk with Him and talk with Him? I’m positive that’s something that we won’t be able to fully grasp before we finally get to meet Him face-to-face. And I look forward to that day.
Have you ever thought about what we’re missing out on because of the existence of sin in our lives? How much better our lives would be? How much fuller they would be? It’s something that I’ve thought about a lot, and, several years ago, I began to write a book about it. It’s a piece of fiction looking at the question of what it would be like if a human being found a another world where God had also created people in His likeness, but those other people had never sinned. What would that world be like? What would those people be like?
that you influenced its formation. Thank you, in advance, for your help!
Here it is:
Thomas awoke in near darkness and severe pain. He was hanging sideways and the pain told him that he must have been that way for several hours. How many hours exactly, he had no idea. His head was pounding and his hands were numb from hanging for so long. He was being held in place solely by the lap belt that he had been able to secure before they crashed. The belt was now digging mercilessly into his upper thighs, but he was unsure how to unhook it without releasing the pressure of his weight. Also, if he could manage that, how could he keep from crashing down onto whatever was hiding in the darkness on his left? Thomas shook his hands and wiggled his fingers, moving them around in an attempt to get feeling back into them. It took several minutes before the tingling began to subside and he could feel the pressure of his finger nails digging into the palms of his hands and the tips of his fingers. Once he felt able to do so, he gripped the arms of his chair and heaved a sigh of relief as he was able to release enough pressure from the lap belt to make the pain more endurable.
With a clearer but still aching head, Thomas began to wonder if one of his crew members could help him—but he didn’t know if they were okay or even conscious. Looking to his left, now down, still holding on to his chair with both hands he strained in the poor light to try to see his co-pilot, Hank.
“Hank? You there?”
Speaking was difficult. The energy that it took for him to try to relieve some of the pressure from his legs was almost all that he could manage at the moment.
“Hank?!” He called out a little louder this time. “Are you there?! Are you alright?! Can you hear me?!” He began to feel a little nervous that Hank wasn’t answering.
Trying to turn his head to face towards the rear of the ship he called out as loud as he could, “Maurice are you there?!” He paused to draw another breathe. “Bernie?! Can you hear me?!” He waited a moment for a response, but none came.
He took a deep breath and yelled as loud as he could, “Anyone! If you can hear me I need your help!”
He could hear his own voice echoing slightly through the battered ship, but no other response came. It was a terribly lonely sound. He knew now that he would have to try to get out of his seat alone and get down as carefully as possible to the side of the ship, now the floor. If Hank was below him, he didn’t need Thomas to land on top of him.
He unbuckled the belts that were strapped across his chest and struggled to try to turn his body to a better position under the tight lap belt before he unbuckled that one. He was only able to move an inch or two. The time he had spent hanging in that uncomfortable position had taken most of the feeling out of his legs as well. Turning was not going to be possible.
Painfully, Thomas let go of the chair with his right hand so he could reach out into the darkness. He was looking for something he could hold onto. The control console in front of him offered no such hope. He was able to reach it fairly easily but the buttons and small levers gave him nothing to grip. Finally, and with great effort, he pushed with his left arm to raise himself up to feel the wall on his right, now the ceiling. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the tiny bit of light that was coming in from somewhere, no doubt from a hull puncture sustained in the crash. He felt the lever before he was able to see it. It was the second stage release lever and it was his best option.
He grasped the lever with his right hand and was relieved to discover that it allowed him to release a bit more of the pressure on his thighs. He enjoyed the slight release for only a few seconds before reaching around with his left hand to unbuckle the belt. He knew that he didn’t have the strength to hold onto the lever for very long and he needed all the strength that he could manage to get down safely. He was relieved that when he unbuckled the belt his body did not simply fall, uncontrollably, to the ground beneath him. He tried to move his body out of his seat as carefully and slowly as possible. He allowed his body to dangle lifelessly underneath him. Thomas was a tall man—a little over six feet—but he still hung several feet over Hank’s chair, and possibly Hank, himself. He tried to move so that he could lower himself slowly from the lever to his chair, and perhaps from his chair to another support, but his right hand was slipping. He pushed away with his left hand on the control console and then released his right hand in an attempt to avoid landing on Hank.
He landed with a loud thud that echoed in the ship. His weakened legs were unable to support him and he crashed down flat, face down. Thomas just lay as he had landed for several minutes, simply breathing. The landing was painful but he was grateful that he had missed Hank and the numerous sharp protruding pieces of metal that had been created by the crash, but which he had not previously been able to see until he was now on eye level with many of them.
It felt like forever before he was able to move to look for Hank. As soon as Thomas saw him, though, he knew that a few moments or a few hours wouldn’t have made a difference. Hank was dead. A massive amount of blood had accumulated underneath where Hank dangled, like a rag doll, from his own seat. The blood was dry. Thomas moved himself toward Hank, pulling with his arms, barely able to move his legs which dragged behind him, and reached out to check for a pulse. A technicality, he knew, but it was something that he needed to do. No pulse, no breathe moved Hank’s body. By landing on their left side Hank had taken the majority of the punishment from the crash. Thomas was wracked with guilt that his worst injury seemed to be some severe bruising. Hank had been a good friend, but Thomas knew that he did not have time now to mourn. He had to check on their other crewmates and see if they were alive and needed his help.
Slowly, he was able to move onto his hands and very wobbly knees, and began crawling towards the back of the ship. His weak legs and sore muscles combined with the wreckage strewn throughout their ship made it feel like hours before he reached the door to the rear end of the ship. He sustained a few small scratches and splinters of metal to his hands and arms as he moved through the wreckage. He could now see where the largest source of the light was coming from. The door was open a small crack—just enough for him to fit his fingers in. Landing on their left side meant that opening the door would require him to pull down. Thomas thought that maybe this was a good sign. Perhaps a bit of luck was coming his way.
He moved into a kneeling position and raised his arms until he could get his hands into place. Then he tried to pry the door open. The door gave a little at first and then refused to budge any further. Thomas’ good feeling faded with what strength he had managed to muster up and he began to wonder if he would be able to open the door at all. He let go of the door and allowed himself to fall down to the floor. He sat for a minute and tried to gather his strength for another try. He slowly raised up, took a few deep breaths, put his hands back in place on the door, and then pulled with all his might allowing his weight to help him. It seemed like the door was not going to move at all for a few moments then it suddenly flew open and Thomas fell into the opening as he lost his balance.
The tumble forward was painful as his wrists twisted beneath him as he fell. He scratched his arm once again as he rushed to cover his eyes from the blinding light that poured in through a hole in the side, now ceiling, of the ship. It seemed to him that it took much longer for his eyes to adjust to the brightness then it had taken for them to adjust to the darkness. He moved back to sit on his feet once more and rubbed his wrists, feeling grateful for the fact that he hadn’t broken anything. Eventually it was no longer painful to look up and Thomas was able to see that his cries for help from Maurice had been in vain. He, too, was dead. He had several pieces of metal lodged in various parts of his body, including one rather large piece that was now sticking out of his chest. This time he skipped the technicality of checking for a pulse.
Thomas turned his head away from the sight and fought his gag reflex. He silently hoped that neither of his friends had suffered and again felt guilty at his own lack of injuries. He sat down, leaned back, and closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing for a minute except for reminding himself to breath in and out, slowly. A feeling of deep grief and guilt grew in his chest and forced itself out in the form of a few silent tears. He quickly wiped them away. He had one more crew member unaccounted for, and if there was any chance that she was alive he had to find her as soon as possible. There would be time to mourn his friends later.
He crawled through the doorway and managed to get up slowly and shakily so he could more easily search for Bernie. She had been in the back compartment with Maurice before the commotion began. It was difficult for Thomas to walk and he fell over frequently. The entire ship shook with the force of his body slamming into the side when he lost his balance and fall over against them several times. He didn’t see Bernie immediately but he had no intention of giving up his search easily. Near the back end of the compartment there was a good deal of rubble piled up against the wall. Thomas considered that might be the best possible location for her body. Her body. The thought of finding her lifeless body made his stomach lurch as he moved forward.
He couldn’t feel his legs. They were just iron-like clubs beneath his body. Yet they moved as he willed them: forward to the pile of rubble.
He couldn’t stand the thought that he might be the only survivor. Thomas was not a religious man but he found himself praying silently as he moved debris, trying to be as careful as possible not to cause pieces to shift too much in the process. If Bernie was under there she didn’t need any injuries in addition to what she might already have.
After a couple of minutes, he saw her slender leg sticking out from underneath the pile. He began to move a little faster, trying to be as careful as ever. His aching muscles did not want to cooperate but he insisted and they painfully complied. With each piece of metal that was moved, more of Bernie’s body became visible. He froze for a moment and almost burst into tears of joy when he realized that she was breathing. His pause was only for an instant. Her breathing, though very slow, renewed his energy and sent his own discomfort flying to the very back of his mind.
“Bernie? Bernadette, can you hear me?” He was almost whispering.
Bernie was laying face down. Thomas could see blood but he couldn’t yet tell where it was coming from or how fresh it all was. But she was breathing! That thought brought him so much joy! That joy mixed with the fear that she still might not make it was beginning to make his hands shake slightly. Or—he thought for a moment—maybe he was more injured than he first realized. All he knew was that he had to concentrate on Bernie right now. He had to will his hands to be steady and gentle.
He was not a medic—Maurice was the doctor—but he knew that he needed to check a few things before he could attempt moving her. He felt around for broken bones. He spent extra time examining her neck and head. Her dark hair was sticky with blood. He turned her head slightly and was finally able to see where the blood was coming from. Bernie had a deep cut on her head, which appeared to be clotting. Thankfully, she didn’t appear to have any broken bones. The cut, while serious, appeared to be her only injury.
“Bernie?” He spoke at a normal volume this time, willing his heart to slow down and his voice to remain steady. He tried to move her gently, to slide her body out from under the last of the rubble. Thomas turned her over and lifted her up as he lowered his own body to the ground, cradling her in his arms like a child.
“Bernie? Can you hear me? Wake up.” His voice was becoming louder and less steady than he wished it to be. Her body was limp and she was unresponsive.
He moved Bernie and laid her body down on a clean section of the floor. Thomas was running on adrenaline. His own pain was completely forgotten. He got up and tried to find some usable medical supplies. Maybe he could find the right tools and medicine to clean and bandage her wound. He had to try.
“Tom?” A soft voice spoke behind him and Thomas spun around as quickly as he could. He almost fell over from the effort. His head was spinning and he had to half crawl, half walk back over to her.
“Bernie?” He kneeled down next to her. “Bernie, how do you feel? Try not to move too much.”
Her eyes were closed tightly but she was moving, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position, if a comfortable position was possible with a splitting headache.
“Tom, what happened?”
... more to come in February.
