The first woman was not very different from this woman. She had a perfect, sweet relationship with God, walking beside the Creator of her perfect world in a sunrise aurora each morning. One morning, she tossed that intimacy aside like a stripped chicken bone—exchanging face-to-face conversations with God for a bite of fruit.
I have never had a perfect relationship with God. But I have, when faced with a stretch of time, discarded meditation like a stripped chicken bone—exchanging intimate conversations with God for a big bite of Apple (or Microsoft, as the case may be).
Sleep was the apple for the disciples waiting in
Gethsemane. This present world was the apple for Demas. And technology is often my apple. Technology is not wrong, but when it or society or sleep or any other thing distracts us from meditating on the words of God, they become our apples.
Think of meditation as gorging your soul on the Bread of Life and on the sweeter-than-honeycomb words of God written to you. In spite of that potential feast, stupidity often carries the day for me, and I still hold up my palm and say, “I’m good—I’ve got my Red Delicious of the knowledge of good and evil.” It’s a fruit that tantalizes your tongue but paralyzes your soul.
So when you contemplate your apple today, when you gaze at your reflection in its glossy ruby skin, when your fingers reach out to caress its buxom shape: choose, just choose, to talk to God instead. After your tongue tastes the honeycomb, you won’t ever want to go back to Apple.
Photo Credit: Helga Weber