I have read Genesis 3 many times. I thought I already understood it. But this time, I felt invited to sit with it more slowly, more honestly.
What stayed with me was a simple question: Why do we desire what we know is forbidden?
The garden was already full. Adam and Eve lacked nothing. God had provided everything they needed. And yet Eve saw that the fruit was pleasing to the eye.
“When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, that it was pleasant to the eyes…” (Genesis 3:6)
That detail lingered with me. Temptation did not begin with rebellion—it began with looking.
And as I reflected on that, I realized how familiar this pattern is.
There are moments in my own life where I clearly knew what God was asking of me—and still, I chose otherwise. Not because I didn’t know better, but because knowing and obeying are not always the same. Sometimes weakness speaks louder than conviction. Sometimes desire clouds discernment.
I carry regret for those moments. Not the kind that traps me in shame, but the kind that humbles me. The kind that makes me aware of how fragile obedience can be when the heart is not carefully guarded. Looking back, I see how small compromises can quietly form—how a glance, a thought, a longing can slowly pull the heart away.
And yet, woven into that regret is gratitude.
Gratitude that God’s grace met me there. Gratitude that He did not turn away when I fell short. He did not wait for me to fix myself before drawing near.
“But where sin increased, grace increased all the more.” (Romans 5:20)
Genesis 3 reminds me that sin often enters softly. Today, it feels even more present. We are surrounded by images everywhere—on our phones, on social media, in videos, in places we casually walk into. Desire is constantly being stirred, comparison quietly planted.
“For all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father.” (1 John 2:16)
It is tiring to resist. Sometimes it feels painfully human.
That is why I am learning—slowly—to be more careful with what my eyes linger on. Because what we repeatedly look at does not remain external. It settles into the heart. And if left unchecked, it can grow into insecurity, jealousy, anger, restlessness—things that slowly steal joy.
“The eye is the lamp of the body.” (Matthew 6:22)
I still carry questions as I sit with this chapter.
Why was the serpent allowed in the garden? Was temptation always part of the human story? Did God allow the choice so that love and obedience could be real—not forced, but freely given?
I do not yet have all the answers. But I am learning that God is patient with our questions. He is not threatened by our wondering. He walks with us as we ask.
So for now, I remain here—reading, praying, learning to guard my heart and my eyes. Trusting that even when we fall short, grace still meets us. And that God, in His kindness, is more interested in drawing us closer than reminding us of how far we’ve strayed.
“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:10)
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