An officemate shared this beautiful prose to me early this morning and I just can’t help but post it for everybody else to read.  So, here it is.

He placed one scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on
the ground.

All of the Garden’s inhabitants paused to witness the event. Hawks
hovered. Giraffes stretched. Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals
and watched.

“You will love me, nature,” God said. “I made you that way. You will
obey me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my
glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will be
like me. This one will be able to choose.”

All were silent as the Creator reached into himself and removed
something yet unseen. A seed. “it’s called ‘choice.’ The seed of choice.”

Creation stood in silence and gazed upon the lifeless form.

An angel spoke, “But what if he …”

“What if he chooses not to love?” the Creator finished. “Come, I will
show you.”

Unbound by today, God and the angel walked into the realm of tomorrow.

“There, see the fruit of the seed of choice, both the sweet and the
bitter.”

The angel gasped at what he saw. Spontaneous love. Voluntary devotion.
Chosen tenderness. Never had he seen anything like these. He felt the
love of the Adams. He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters. He saw
the food and the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled
at the warmth.

“Heaven has never seen such beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your
greatest creation.”

“Ah, but you’ve only seen the sweet. Now witness the bitter.”

A stench enveloped the pair. The angel turned in horror and
proclaimed, “What is it?”

The Creator spoke only one word: “Selfishness. ”

The angel stood speechless as they passed through centuries of
repugnance. Never had he seen such filth. Rotten hearts. Ruptured
promises. Forgotten loyalties. Children of the creation wandering
blindly in lonely labyrinths.

“This is the result of choice? the angel asked.

“Yes.”

“They will forget you?”

“Yes.”

“They will reject you?”

“Yes.”

“They will never come back?”

“Some will. Most won’t.”

“What will it take to make them listen?”

The Creator walked on in time, further and further into the future,
until he stood by a tree. A tree that would be fashioned into a
cradle. Even then he could smell the hay that would surround him.

With another step into the future, he paused before another tree. It
stood alone, a stubborn ruler on a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and
the wood was strong. Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed.
Soon it would be mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon
he would be hung on it.

He felt the wood rub against a back he did not yet wear.

“Will you go down there?” the angel asked.

“I will.”

“Is there no other way?”

“There is not.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to not plant the seed? Wouldn’t it be easier to not give the choice?”

“It would,” the Creator spoke slowly. “But to remove the choice is to
remove the love.”

He look around the hill and foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on
three crosses. Arms spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the
wind.

Men clad in soldier’s garb sat on the ground near the trio. They
played games in the dirt and laughed.

Men clad in religion stood off to one side. They smiled. Arrogant,
cocky. They had protected God, they thought by killing this false one.

Women clad in sorrow huddled at the foot of the hill. Speechless.
Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward. One put her arm around another and
tried to lead her away. She wouldn’t leave. “I will stay,” she said
softly, “I will stay.”

All heaven stood to fight. All nature rose to rescue. All eternity
poised to protect. But the Creator gave no command.

“It must be done…,” he said, and withdrew.

But as he stepped in time, he heard the cry that he would someday
scream: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He wrenched at
tomorrow’s agony.

The angel spoke again. “It would be less painful…”

The Creator interrupted softly. “But it wouldn’t be love.”

They stepped into the Garden again. The Maker looked earnestly at the
clay creation. A monsoon of love swelled up within him. He had died
for the creation before he had made him. God’s form bent over the
sculptured face and breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one.
The chest rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger
moved. And an eye opened.

But more incredible than the moving of the flesh was the stirring of
the spirit. Those who could see the unseen gasped.

Perhaps it was the wind who said it first. Perhaps what the star saw
that moment is what has made it blink ever since. Maybe it was left to
an angel to whisper it:

“It looks like … it appears to so much like … it is him!”

The angel wasn’t speaking of the face, the features, or the body. He
was looking inside – at the soul.

“It’s eternal!” gasped another.

***
Within the man, God has placed a divine seed. A seed of his self (A
seed of choice). The God of might had created earth’s mightiest… And the One who had chosen to love had created one who could love in return.
Now it’s our choice…

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