Scripture Stories for Little Saints

Genesis 19:12 And the men said unto Lot, Hast thou here any besides? son in law, and thy sons, and thy daughters, and whatsoever thou hast in the city, bring them out of this place:

Lot’s family built a wall. And they built a wall because they had moved into a city. The city. The big city. A city called Sodom. And while they liked the fireworks, parks, restaurants, and street performers, there were also things about the city they didn’t like. They didn’t like the crime or the drugs or some of the ideas people had or the ways some people acted. And Lot and his wife wanted to protect their family from negative influences.
But while walls can keep people and animals out, they can’t stop all the noise, smells, or bugs. And they are nothing against your imagination. It doesn’t matter how big or thick or strong a wall is; your imagination can walk right through to the other side. So Lot and his wife couldn’t keep their children completely safe behind even the thickest wall.
They had four daughters, and the daughters were growing. Before long, the two oldest were imagining adventure and life and love beyond the wall. And then they were sneaking out to parties, and going with friends to dances, or hanging out late at diners.
And their mother would see them missing and worry and worry and worry until they came home safe. Have you ever seen your mother worried? Maybe she paces the floor, or sits and fidgets. Maybe she scrubs the dishes extra hard or reads a book or maybe she cries. Well, the two youngest daughters saw their mother worry a lot.
And so they decided they were never going to sneak out or climb the wall like their older sisters had done. They never wanted their mother to have to worry. And so they were going to be obedient. And their commitment to obedience only became stronger when their older sisters announced they’d fallen in love. Soon enough, the oldest daughters were married, had children, and started their own lives in tiny apartments in Sodom City beyond the reach and safety of Lot’s walls.
They probably stayed in touch. Maybe they came over for Sunday dinners, and after their mother would have packed leftovers into Tupperware for them to take home. And Lot and his wife and their younger daughters would watch from the gate as the older sisters walked away with their families to their apartments. And then Lot and his wife and the younger daughters would retreat again behind their walls, where they could live safely. Or so they thought.
But one night, there was a knock at the door. It was two men. Only they weren’t men at all. Their skin shone and their faces beamed. They were beautiful. Were they angels?
“Make yourself at home,” Lot said. “Can I get you something to drink?” his wife asked. But the men had not come for pleasantries. They carried a message. A big, terrible, tragic, sad, horrible, unbelievable message. Sodom, the bustling city they lived in, was about to be destroyed. “Your walls will not protect you from this,” they explained. “Leave now and don’t look back.”
So Lot and his wife grabbed their two youngest daughters and a backpack with toothbrushes, water, and snacks, and headed out the door. But before they could go, they had to warn their oldest daughters, their son-in-laws, and their grandkids.
But the son-in-laws thought it was a joke, and the eldest daughters didn’t want to wake the children, and they didn’t even believe in angels anyway, and the whole story all felt a little ridiculous. It was probably just another trick to get them to come back inside the walls. But they were not going to be duped. They were not going to be scared. They were not going to leave. Yet Lot’s wife persisted. “If you’re not going to come with us now, promise us you’ll run at the first sign of danger. Don’t wait a second longer. Promise me, please. Promise me.”
And off Lot and his wife and their two youngest daughters went. They ran out beyond the city wall and down the road. They ran through the night and into the morning. As the sun was rising, Lot’s wife trailed behind the other three. Her run became a jog and then a walk. She looked ahead at her youngest daughters, who were moving swiftly away from danger. And then all at once, she looked back. She had to see if the rest of their family was following or if an army was coming or what terrible destruction might be approaching.
Maybe there was still something she could do for her eldest daughters. Maybe they’d see the danger in time. Maybe they’d still come running. Maybe she could help carry the children. But her youngest daughters also needed help. They weren’t safe yet. Plus, they were the ones who listened. But they were not in as much danger. And she didn’t know if she should help the people who needed it most or the people she was most able to help. And so she didn’t know if she should move forward or go back. She was stuck in paralysis.
Paralysis, a definition:
So often in life, we are stuck. Not between a rock and a hard place or in the mud or from a headlock. More often, we are stuck between two good choices. Do you want licorice or gummy bears? This toy or that one? To clean or to play? These are all good things, and sometimes you will get stuck picking between them. You won’t be able to decide whether to go north or south, left or right, up or down. You will want to pick the best option, but you won’t know how. And so you will be stuck trying to figure out what to do. This is paralysis.
Lot’s wife was in paralysis. She couldn’t decide to go forward or backwards. She stood frozen like a pillar halfway between them, her eyes looking back but her feet facing forward, not moving an inch either direction. But Lot and his daughters never turned back. On they went. They ran until their legs gave out, and they fell to the ground, exhausted, and slept on the naked earth. And when Lot woke in the heat of the day, his wife was missing. There was smoke in the air. Destruction had come, just like the angels predicted. And Lot cried, and he would continue to cry for weeks and months to come. He would never see his wife or home or city again.
And Lot decided that they would never go to another city or even a small town. He didn’t want his daughters to leave or marry or be exposed to all the cruelness and randomness and dangers of the world. So he took his children to the mountain where they lived like hermits. If walls hadn’t kept them safe, maybe a cave would.
But in a cave, there are no friends or schools. No one to play with or get in trouble with. No one to joke with or flirt with. And in the cave, the youngest daughters learned what it really meant to be alone. They had lost their mother, sisters, nieces, nephews, and friends, and even their father, who retreated further and further into his own mind.
But these were strong women. Women who would not give up. Women who would find hope and a way to continue. They would make a future and live on. They would leave the cave, and descend the mountain, and make a family. They knew the world was messy, complicated, gross, exhausting, impossible, unpredictable, terrifying, incomprehensible, and still they were going back to try again.
And they would raise their own families. They would build their own walls, have their own rules, teach their own beliefs, and do everything they could to protect their children. And some of their children would still choose Sodom. And some would still choose the cave. And sometimes these strong women would get stuck looking back, wondering what they could have done differently.
But then they’d move forward again as they had done before. They would find a way to continue, to push on, to trust that one way or another, their children would make it out of Sodom, down from the cave, through paralysis, and home again.
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Genesis 21:6 And Sarah said, God hath made me to laugh. (KJV)

Hagar had her baby boy, and Sarai watched as the child drew its first breath, then cried, nursed, calmed, and fell asleep. And Hagar also cried for joy and for tiredness, and then she fell asleep too. And while Hagar slept, Sarai took the child, and held him against her chest, and wished it had been hers. She ran her hand over his belly. She straightened his curled fingers and put her thumb against his jaw. The body was too perfect. She couldn’t look into his eyes. Because in the eyes she knew she’d see God’s promise fulfilled. Fulfilled without her.
And so she shook her head and closed her eyes and set the baby back into the arms of his sleeping mother. This was not her boy. It was silly to pretend. He was Hagar’s to love, Hagar’s to raise. Sarai’s own servant had replaced her. God had cut her out of the family. She was the tiniest, most insignificant footnote in God’s big, beautiful story. Worse than a footnote. Sarai was a speed bump. One of the people who got in the way.
Sarai didn’t want to be in the way any longer. So she stepped aside and watched that night as the family continued without her. She watched as Abram snuggled, held, and kissed the baby. The promised child, at last. Abram looked into his eyes and sure enough, he saw what Sarai had feared. He called the boy Ishmael, and Ishmael grew tall and strong. And Abram was content, believing God’s promise was fulfilled.
But there were more prayers and plans and purposes than Abram’s. When Sarai turned 90 years old, God spoke again and said, “Abram, you have misunderstood. This prophecy, it was never just about you. It was always about Sarai, too. You will be a father to nations, but Sarai will be the mother.”
Abram laughed. “Sarai is so old. It’s way, way, way too late for her to have a baby.” When Sarai found out, she laughed, too. But her laugh was not just in disbelief. It was a harsh, bitter laugh, full of so many years of hurt and sorrow and disappointment because Abram was right. It was too late. God’s promise was made decades ago. And if her womb was dried up then, it was desolate now, drier than the driest desert.
“She is not too old,” God said, “and neither are you.” And right then and there, God gave Abram and Sarai new names. Even though they were almost a hundred years old, God was treating them like brand-new babies. “I will call you Abraham and Sarah,” said God. “You are not old. You are not old at all. You are newborns, my little children, my newlyweds, my growing family.”
And sure enough, even though Sarah was 90 years old, she became pregnant. She couldn’t believe it. But then she felt the quickening, the holy moving and hiccuping and living happening inside of her, and she laughed again, a shocked, delighted laugh. And the laugh was not without some tears — of hope, of relief. She laughed in her old age. She laughed as she grew older and rounder. She laughed all the way into her ninth month. And her laughter drew from the well of her sorrows — a hole that was deep, so very deep, but reached a source that was cold and pure as spring water. And each laugh drew from deeper places until when she laughed her stomach contracted, and the birth began.
It hurt as her old body strained. But as the child was pushed out, the feeling deepened in pain and in sacredness. It was purifying her soul, like the deepest laughter of all. And then she screamed and gasped. And there was the baby. And Abraham stared in astonishment at his tiny, chubby fists that bent tightly around his papery, wrinkled fingers.
The boy was named Isaac, which means son of laughter. And the laughter continued. Sarah laughed watching her boy nurse, and then sleep, and wake with fluttering eyes. She laughed softly as he cuddled into her. She laughed as he grew fat and toddled across the floor, stumbling and tripping. He was her joy of joys. And laughter filled his childhood. It was as primitive to his life as breath itself.
And the laughter remains in the air today, a sound like an angel’s music that fills all of eternity. It is the sound your mother made when you were born. It is the sound your father made the first time you smiled. It is the sound of hopes realized, promises fulfilled, and joy overflowing. We laugh, we laugh, we laugh.
To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com
To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.


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Genesis 15:5 And he brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” (ESV)

Abram and Sarai were the family God chose to build his city. But they were just learning what that meant. It didn’t mean they got all the best stuff. Quite the opposite. They’d given all the good stuff away. Abram and Sarai did not get the best farmland or grazing pastures. They did not get the newest toys or the biggest homes. Instead, they lived on a scrubby little farm growing scrubby little crops. And God promised to preserve this land for them and their descendants forever.
Now, it might not seem all that great to be promised mediocre land forever and ever and ever. But Abram and Sarai were going to make the most of what they had. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all terrible. There were even some really nice trees in one spot. So that’s where they decided to live and work. And they did work. And work. And work and work and work. They worked so hard because they had to. Or else they’d starve.
And while Abram and Sarai had to carefully plow the earth and place seeds in the dirt and water the land to get even small sprouts to appear, Lot’s family could throw seeds into the wind, and wherever they landed, they grew tall and bright. And the family of Lot looked at the green growth and the streams of water and praised God. “Thank you for giving us this practically perfect land!” they said. And they thought, “We are the lucky ones.”
But good land is easy to covet. And before long, several armies had arrived to take the land from Lot and his family. And Lot and his wife and his daughters were captured and carried away as prisoners, and they would have been sold into slavery if Abram hadn’t run to rescue them.
And after Abram’s daring rescue, Lot’s family returned to their beautifully fertile land, and Abram returned to his scorched, brown world. But he didn’t feel even a little sorry for himself. On the contrary, he thought he was the lucky one. God had given them this land forever because bad land is safe land. Armies don’t fight over wasteland. So while it was harder to grow food, God was protecting them and their future children from other people, armies, and jealousies. This way, they would never be captured, or carried away as prisoners, or sold into slavery.
“This is exactly why it pays to follow God,” Abram thought. “Because God is smart and wise and far-sighted. He will always keep us safe, thank goodness.”
But that night, God visited Abram in his dreams. “Abram,” said God, “I have something to show you.” And God showed Abram that even though he had bad land, that still wasn’t going to keep his family safe. In fact, his descendants would be forced into slavery. And they’d remain slaves for 400 years. His family would suffer injustice and inhumanity, hunger and humiliation.
This wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare! And a very confusing nightmare at that. What was the point of following God if it didn’t make life safer or simpler? “God,” thought Abram, “you don’t make this easy.”
God just smiled. “I haven’t finished,” he said. “After 400 years, they will escape and be free again. And they will be wealthy but not just with money. They will be rich with things like knowledge and experience. They will remember their slavery. And they will invent new ways for how to treat people. They will write new laws that encourage honesty, fairness, kindness, and charity. Laws that challenge the powerful and give resources to the poor. Laws that treat everyone with dignity, because they will believe that all people deserve freedom, even the poorest and most insignificant. And they will build societies that try to live by these laws. And they will have to work hard, very hard. And they will fail a lot. But eventually, they will create a new nation. My nation. And this family, community, city, nation — they will change the world.”
Abram woke from his dream with a gasp. And he realized two things that were definitely, absolutely true. First, with or without God, life was always going to be full of pain and sorrow and unfairness. There was no getting around it. Following God wasn’t going to solve all his problems or his children’s problems. It wouldn’t make him lucky or unlucky.
Second, being lucky or unlucky wasn’t the point. You don’t follow God because it makes your life easy or protects you from hurt or unfairness or blisters or burns. It doesn’t. God wasn’t trying to make some people rich and others poor. God was building a family. A city. A city that was like a family where people would take care of each other. And they’d help the poor, comfort the sad, and make sure everyone had food to eat and friends to play with. And living this way would make bad luck less scary and good luck less necessary. Because people would always be there to help, no matter what.
And God explained that Abram was going to be the father of this family. And soon he’d have tons and tons of children. Abram could see them now. This family would grow and grow with babies becoming children becoming adults becoming parents having more babies and more babies and more babies, no end in sight. There would be more people than there is sand on the beach. And they would grow bigger, and kinder, and better. Each person sharing their light with each other until they lit up the night sky, like a canopy of a million, billion, trillion stars.
This was going to be one large, forever-growing family. There was just one problem. Abram and Sarai couldn’t get pregnant.
To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com
To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.


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Genesis 11:4 they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens. (NIV)

If you’ve been reading this book, you’ve probably noticed that ever since Adam and Eve left the garden, the world has not seemed like a very safe place. First, there were thorns and predators. Then one person was killed. Then people started growing old and dying. Then wars started, and tons of people died. And then, out of nowhere, the world filled with water, and the huge flood killed pretty much everything. The only survivors were the animals and plants on Noah’s boat.
And so the family of Noah started all over. And they grew and grew into a town, then a city, then a nation, which is when they decided to build a tower. A tall tower that was more of a ladder. It was a tall, tall ladder that they could use to climb right out of the world and into heaven. “Because in heaven,” they thought, “there are no wars, or tornadoes, or murder, or death or dying. Because God is there. And God will keep everyone safe.” In heaven, the people would be protected from thorns, predators, bad ideas, other people, and, of course, floods. The people really didn’t want to drown in any more floods.
And so they started building, floor by floor. And the higher they got, the more excited they became. “Look how tiny the trees are from here!” they said. “We can almost touch the clouds.” How much further will they have to build? They must nearly be there. Maybe God was on top of the next cloud. But soon enough, they were through the clouds and still no heaven and no God. And so they kept building. And building. And building.
Soon, they thought, we will be in heaven and we will knock on God’s door and say, ‘Hello there! Can we stay with you?’” And they imagined seeing God and how he would respond. He would certainly be proud of them for finding their way back home and maybe even a little impressed.
But God was not proud of them, though he was a little impressed. Working together, they managed to build a most remarkable skyscraper. It was an architectural triumph. There was something so right about what they were doing. They were looking for heaven. And they were doing it by working together. But there was something very wrong about why they were doing it.
The whole grand endeavor was being motivated by fear. Fear of the world. And fear of death. And while they thought they were running towards God, they were running away from him as well.
Because God did not live in the sky. He was not hiding behind a cloud. Heaven was not up there at all. It was going to be built here, on the beautiful earth God had created. And so God wanted his children to stop building a ladder to climb to heaven, and to start building heaven, on the very world they were trying to escape.
God didn’t want them to fear the world, or to run away. He needed his children to face their fears. To love the world so they could help fix it. They didn’t need to run back to God, because he was coming for them.
Because heaven was not a destination in the sky, but a project. It was a community built not with bricks but with people. This big tower was getting in the way of what they ought to be building. And what they ought to be building was a community. And this community would grow sideways, not upwards.
It would stretch wider and wider, spreading across the entire world. It would include all kinds of people with all kinds of different ideas and experiences. And together, they would build not one thing, but millions. They would produce food and purify water. They would build schools for children and universities for adults. They’d build cities and write books and discover planets and molecules and equations. They’d overcome famine and war and disease. They’d save plants and animals and each other from floods, hurricanes, and extinction. They’d bless the world in thousands of different ways, with millions of different people using their billions of different talents. They’d do so much, learn so much, and accomplish so much more than building a tall tower.
But to do this, they needed to understand not just the power of unity but also the blessing of differences. They didn’t need just one goal, or a master architect, or a king, or a CEO. They needed to learn how to fit together, and be together, and disagree together, and forgive together, and love together so they could keep living together forever.
Then God had an idea. He would help the family of Noah remember their differences. So God performed a miracle. While everyone was sleeping, he changed their languages. When people woke up and went to work in the morning, they found that some of them spoke English, while others spoke Mandarin, Russian, Malaise, French, Vietnamese, and Zulu.
And just like that, the people stopped building the tower because they could not understand each other. The brick makers were using centimeters while the bricklayers were using inches. The mortar mixers didn’t make enough mortar. People no longer fit so nicely into owners and workers, supervisors and laborers, bricklayers and brick makers.
Because the bricklayer was no longer just a bricklayer. They all spoke different languages, and some of them were also mothers, aunts, knitters, and runners as well. The mortar mixers were no longer just mortar mixers. They all had different dialects and different hobbies. Some played chess, others checkers, and others were soccer enthusiasts. And the architects were not just architects. They communicated differently, and some were also grandparents, painters, and cheese connoisseurs. They were all so incredibly different.
But instead of learning to deal with each other as the full, complex individuals they all were, they just gave up. How could they talk together with so many different languages? How could they solve problems with so many different opinions? How could they achieve new heights with so many different perspectives? And so, instead of learning to work together, instead of harnessing the power of their different skills, backgrounds, and perspectives, they split apart. And instead of building heaven on earth, they created armies and walls and fences. And they split up into different groups and ran away from each other.
And over the next thousand years, the tower decayed and crumbled, and then all at once it fell, collapsed, and pounded the earth with so much fury that it almost seemed angry to have been left unfinished. And in its place, the people began to build new cities and new empires. They fought over land and killed each other for water. And they divided into countries and continents. And it seemed like the earth had never been further from heaven.
And God decided that if he was ever going to help his children build heaven on earth, he’d have to start with a single family. And he would teach that family to care for each other, and to not turn away or be afraid when people were different or confusing or inconvenient. And that family would grow and fill the whole earth. And as they grew wider and wider, heart by heart, generation upon generation, they would stretch nearer and nearer to heaven. Until at last they would realize that they were themselves the tower. God’s tower. And he was already there with them, welcoming them home.
To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com
To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.


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Genesis 4:7 If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? (NIV)

Life after Eden was even harder than Eve or Adam could have imagined. Eve got pregnant and gave birth to one boy and then another. And they named them Cain and Abel. And while childbirth was so, so, so hard, it still wasn’t as hard as raising children. Because although children are adorable and snuggly and delightful, they are also a lot of work.
For example, when their baby Abel got a stomachache, he stayed up all night crying. So in the morning, Eve and Adam were very tired and a little grumpy. And because they were tired and grumpy, they quarreled over whose turn it was to change his diaper. And they spent the whole day feeling tired and grumpy and angry at each other until finally they apologized during dinner. And though apologizing seems easy enough, it wasn’t. Like everything about living in this world, it was surprisingly difficult.
In the Garden, Adam and Eve never had to cook a meal. They simply plucked berries from thornless bushes, fruits from short trees, and honey from stingless bees. But in the world, the bushes all had thorns, and the trees were tall and rough, and the bees had stingers. Getting food was not so simple anymore.
But even after bloodying their hands plucking berries, and skinning their knees climbing trees, and getting stung on their face trying to retrieve honey, they were still hungry. The harder they worked to gather food, the more food they needed. The sweet berries, fruit, and honey were not enough.
Have you ever seen a lamb? It’s white, and fluffy, and oh so cuddly. Well, it’s something else as well. It’s tasty. And Adam and Eve were getting hungrier and hungrier. They needed fats, proteins, and meat to feed their hard-working bodies. And looking at the sheep, they started to salivate. Pretty soon, they were meat eaters.
And God taught them a ritual, so they would never forget the preciousness of life and the cost of survival. They had to give some of their sheep back to God. It was called a sacrifice. Abel would put a lamb on a rock, and God would send fire down to take the lamb back to heaven. It was a way to thank the animals for giving their lives. And also thank God for creating all the animals.
As Cain grew, he watched his parents mess up and make mistakes, and have to kill and eat innocent animals. They were always having to say “thank you” and “I’m sorry.” And Cain decided that he was going to do something different. “Maybe the world has fallen,” he said, “but I don’t have to fall with it. I don’t have to get tired or angry or grumpy. Nothing has to die in order for me to survive. I will be self-reliant. And I will never have to say thank you or I’m sorry because I will live perfectly perfect all the time, all by myself.” And so Cain became the first perfectionist.
Perfectionist, a definition:
A perfectionist is someone who is terrified of imperfection. They are scared of being late, or dirty, or wrong, or smelly, or rude, or any other kind of imperfect. When they do make a mistake, instead of looking at God and saying “oops,” they look at themselves and say “yikes!” Being a perfectionist is not easy. Because whenever you try to be perfect, you fail. Because you are not perfect. No one is. And if you are scared of failing all the time, you will find that it is very difficult to be happy or pleasant or nice or good. Which only makes you more imperfect. And so perfectionism is a burden that multiplies itself. The longer you carry it, the heavier it becomes until at last it crushes you.
Cain was a perfectionist. While Abel cared for a big herd of sheep in the field, Cain tried to sustain himself with a garden. He picked every weed, cut thorns, relocated briars. And Cain wanted his parents to see what a good job he was doing. When they complimented Abel’s newborn lambs, Cain would say, “Taste these fresh strawberries.” And when Abel cooked mutton, Cain would say, “How about another slice of tomato?”
Cain competed for his parents’ attention because he was filled with doubts. He was trying so hard to be good, but then he would feel flashes of anger, or sadness, or smell a whiff of lamb and want a bite. And he’d hate himself for these feelings and worry that he wasn’t good enough. And because of his doubts, he desperately wanted to show everyone his good works, and for people to say, “Good job, Cain!” and pat him on the back. Only then would he feel like he was succeeding. Only then would he feel good. But he never felt good enough.
And so he tried harder and harder. He tried to pray more, fast longer, memorize complicated scriptures, and sit perfectly still in church. Because the person he was trying to impress more than his parents or his brother was God himself. And so Cain decided he would get God’s approval in front of everyone so they would all know that he was really, actually a very good guy.
And so when Abel sacrificed another lamb and thanked the lamb for its life and thanked God for the lamb, Cain brought his own offering. But instead of an animal, Cain left out a large cornucopia of fruits, nuts, and vegetables. Their family would soon see that Cain’s offering was so much better, purer, cleaner than Abel’s. So everyone watched as the leaves rustled, the sun dimmed, and a fire came down from heaven, consuming the lamb. But all of Cain’s fruits and vegetables were left untouched.
“It’s okay,” Eve told Cain. “We like your fruits and vegetables.” And she tried to give Cain a hug. But Cain would not let her. Instead, he ran to his room, closed the door, and screamed.
And God came to Cain and told him not to worry so much. “You are trying so hard to be perfect. But all I have asked is for you to be good. And that is hard enough. Because the world is very messy. It is full of hurt and sin and suffering. It is all around you, all the time, and it is powerful. If you face it alone, it will eat you right up like a fire or a hungry lion. And you will become worse and worse. You must let go of perfection. Let go of the world you want and accept the world that is given to you. It is good, and you are good enough.”
But Cain was angry and yelled at God. “If we’re only ‘good enough,’ that’s your fault. You made us this way! It’s not my fault I get tired, or sad, or angry. It’s not my fault I need attention. It’s not my fault I get embarrassed and blush. You made me this way — broken and stupid like your world. It’s all your fault!”
And Cain ran from God. And he grew angrier and angrier and angrier. Angry at God. Angry at his family. Angry at his brother. And angry with himself. Angry at the fallen world. Angry that he couldn’t fix it. And the anger consumed him, eating away at his heart until at last Cain did something worse than he ever could have imagined. He invited his brother into his garden where the vines were overgrown so that no one would see what was about to happen. Then Cain turned and killed Abel and watched his brother’s blood seep into the earth like another slaughtered sheep.
And the blood poisoned the earth so that not even weeds could grow from it. And Cain ran and gagged and cried. And God came to him. “Cain,” God said. “What have you done? This is the worst thing a person can do. You were supposed to care for your brother, not kill him.”
When the family of Adam and Eve found Abel, they gasped. It was the first death and the first murder all in one. And Cain wept and waited for the inevitable. They would come for him. They would seek justice. And they would kill him. He was sure of it. And so he waited. And waited. And wandered and waited. But no one came to kill him. Not his family. Not God. They let him live. And who knows why. But maybe it was because there is already too much hurt and death and brokenness in this world. It is everywhere around us and inside us. There is no avoiding it. You cannot walk without stepping on it, you cannot outrun it or get around it. It is in the air we breathe and the food we eat. So much life has been given so that you and I can live.
That is our reality. But don’t hate yourself for being who you are. Don’t be scared to say “thank you” or “I’m sorry.” Ask for help when you need it. Try to do good, even when you want to do bad. See beauty in the world, even when there is ugliness. And when someone is cruel or mean or worse than you can imagine, try to forgive them and let them live.
You will fail sometimes — often, probably. But be brave, and try again. Do not let your failures consume you. Know that you are crammed, stuffed, bursting with goodness and badness. Know that you are broken and imperfect like the world you live in, and it will take more than a lamb to save you and more than a thousand lambs to fix this world. God himself would have to die. And because he died, you don’t have to be perfect. And because you don’t have to be perfect, you can just try to be good.
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