God Called It Good

Their juice was sweet—
huckleberries bursting like the breath of God still hung in the leaves,
flesh like mercy, unashamed,
bleeding onto my palms like a promise kept.
Wild with grace,
called good on the third day.

She peered like a prophet.
“Should you really be eating those?”
I hesitated—
not because the fruit was rancid,
but because her question
turned the garden cold
without plucking a single leaf—
as if joy were a trap
God forgot to warn me about.

That’s when I saw it—
coiled in the shadows beneath the bush,
a serpent, still as breath before betrayal,
like it had been watching from the first bite,
waiting for her voice to split the silence.

I searched my hands for stains of sin,
but found only the crimson that made me clean.
I was peaceful, not poisoned—
filled with fruit she couldn’t name.

Later, she asked—
“Have you been feeling anxious?”
a curse dressed in concern,
the hiss behind the hand.

“Did God really—
Free you?
Heal you?
Call you whole?”

She prayed like a veil pulled tight,
not to cover,
but to cloud the light.
As if her words could draw me
beneath her weight
instead of God’s wing.
As if she needed me sick,
so she could be the cure.

But I knew,
the Spirit doesn’t slither.
He doesn’t convict by coiling doubt
through what He already blessed.
He doesn’t wear her tone.

Writer’s Note

Most of us know the story of the Garden. We know the serpent, the fruit, and the question:
“Did God really say...?”

We often think of this lie as an invitation to rebellion, to eat what God has forbidden. But sometimes, especially within the Church, the lie takes a different shape. It doesn’t tempt you to indulge in obvious sin.

It tempts you to doubt what’s already been blessed and live in fear, not freedom.

Instead of saying, “Eat what God said not to,”
it whispers, “Should you eat what God said was good? Should you really be enjoying that? Should you really feel free?”

I wrote this poem after two encounters with the same person. Both were cloaked in spiritual language and laced with a quiet invitation to doubt. In this instance, I cannot take credit for writing a good metaphor because the serpent and fruit are not that at all.

The first encounter happened on a summer afternoon while we were on a walk together, and I started picking some wild huckleberries. I remember how sweet they were and how peaceful and full of life I felt in that moment.
Then she looked at me, hesitantly, and asked,
“Should you really be eating those?”
…as if the fruit I grew up eating was somehow poisonous.

A second later, I saw it: an actual snake,
coiled in the shadows beneath the bush I had just picked from.
It didn’t strike.
It simply watched.

The Biblical symbolism was too heavy to ignore.
I felt shaken and wondered if I had somehow sinned,
if the joy I had was unholy in some way.

But that confusion didn’t come from the Holy Spirit.
It came from a darker voice.

And later, in a separate conversation with her, after some passive-aggressive comments, she invited me to doubt the healing and freedom God gave me using a more sinister line of questioning.
Then, I finally saw the truth:

The fruit was good.
The voice that cast doubt over it was not.

I left the next part out of the poem to avoid overdoing it, but it happened.
Later that same day, I saw a second snake.
Laid out across the trail like God underlining something I hadn’t read properly the first time.

It felt like a divine insistence—
as if God was saying, Don’t just notice the sign. Heed it.

This situation taught me how spiritual manipulation often works.
It doesn’t just show up with strange demands or obvious heresy.
It shows up softly,
through questions that cloud and concern that controls, and whispers woven in Gnostic lies.
It uses prayer as a veil,
not to cover, but to obscure with ulterior motives.

This poem is not a critique of the Church,
especially not my church, which I love deeply and continue to grow in.
The person involved does not represent my church or its leadership,
and I’m incredibly grateful for the Spirit-led community I’ve found there.

This is about learning to recognize when someone speaks in God’s name, but not in His Spirit.
We must be able to trust what the Lord has already called blessed.
We must be vigilant against spiritual doubt disguised as empathy and discernment,
and most importantly, we must remember that joy, healing, and freedom do not need permission.

They are fruit from the tree of life.
And if God called it good,
no serpent has the authority to say otherwise.