Lord God,
You gave so much
a garden of beauty,
a world without pain,
a life of purpose,
a walk with You in the cool of the day.
And still, we reached for what was forbidden.
Still, I reach for what is not mine to take.
I confess
I have listened to the serpent’s whisper.
I’ve let doubt creep in where trust should live.
“Did God really say?”
how many times that question
has unraveled my obedience.
How often I’ve exchanged truth for lies,
freedom for chains,
and presence for hiding.
You clothed us with dignity,
but I covered myself with fig leaves.
You called my name,
but I ran to the shadows.
You came near,
but shame told me to retreat.
“Where are you?”
Your question still echoes
not because You lost sight of me,
but because I lost sight of You.
You sought me even in my rebellion.
You came looking not to crush me,
but to confront me with grace.
Forgive me, Lord,
for reaching out to what glitters but destroys.
For thinking I could be my own god.
For trusting what deceives
more than trusting the One who formed me.
The curse fell heavy that day
toil, pain, distance, death.
I feel it still
in the brokenness of the world,
in the ache of relationships,
in the distance I sometimes sense between us.
Sin has made thorns grow where peace once bloomed.
And yet
You did not leave us naked.
You did not leave us alone.
Even in judgment, You gave a promise
the Seed of the woman,
the One who would crush the serpent’s head.
Jesus, You are that promised One.
Thank You for the covering You provided
not just skins for Adam and Eve,
but Your own righteousness for me.
You bore the curse so I could wear grace.
You were bruised so I could be healed.
You were exiled so I could be brought home.
Teach me to recognize the serpent’s voice.
Help me to resist its cunning schemes.
Let my hunger be for You, not forbidden fruit.
Restore in me a clean heart,
one that does not reach in rebellion,
but kneels in surrender.
When I hide, call me out with kindness.
When I blame, teach me to confess.
When I fall, lift me with mercy.
When I doubt, speak again, “Where are you?”
And let my answer be,
“Here I am, Lord ashamed, but not abandoned.
Broken, but not beyond healing.”
I long for the day
when the thorns will be gone,
when the ground will yield joy instead of sweat,
when You will walk with us again in perfect peace.
When this broken body will be restored.
But until then,
let me walk in repentance.
Let me live under the promise.
Let me trust the One
who was pierced by the thorns I sowed.
Jesus, Lamb who was slain,
cover me again.
Clothe me not in my own efforts,
but in Your forgiveness.
Guard the way back to the Tree of Life
until that day when paradise is restored.
In Your holy, healing name,
Amen.