That Damn Apple: The Original Blame Game

Adam and Eve had the easiest responsibilities on the planet: enjoy paradise, love each other, name some animals, and don’t eat fruit from one very specific tree. That’s it. No taxes, no chores, no in-laws, no laundry, just a full-time gig of joy. Then a smooth-talking serpent slides in like the first bad influence in history and convinces Eve that the one thing off-limits is the exact thing she needs to feel fulfilled. Eve bites the fruit like it’s a TikTok food trend, Adam joins in like he can’t think for himself, and suddenly the universe breaks. They realize they’re naked — which was totally fine five minutes ago — and panic sets in. Instead of running to God for help, they hide behind bushes, sewing together fig-leaf underwear like that’s going to fix the apocalypse they just launched.

God shows up — not clueless, but giving them a chance to come clean. And what do they do? Adam immediately throws Eve under the world’s first bus. “This woman YOU gave me — she did it.” Bold move, blaming both your wife and God in one sentence. Eve, not missing a beat, points straight at the serpent. “The snake tricked me!” Every one of them avoids responsibility like it’s contagious. That’s the stink right there. The original sin wasn’t just disobedience — it was denial. It was the refusal to own the mess they created. Shame made them hide from the very One who loved them most.

But here’s the fertilizer buried in the fallout: God doesn’t abandon them. Yes, consequences roll in — because choices aren’t cheap — but God clothes them Himself before they leave the garden. Tenderness in discipline. Grace in accountability. The first sin is the first time God has to show mercy, and He doesn’t hesitate. Even in failure, they were still His. Humanity’s screw-up becomes the first chapter of redemption’s story. If Adam and Eve never fell, we’d never know how deeply God is willing to rescue.

And the scoop — the truth we’d rather not taste — is this: every time we mess up, our instinct is still to hide. We blame our parents, our trauma, our boss, our addiction, our ex, the universe, the system — anything but the person in the mirror. We sew our own fig leaves out of pride and excuses, hoping to cover what God is actually ready to heal. The Bullshit Factor here? Denial keeps us stuck in gardens we no longer belong in. Growth begins when we stop pointing fingers and start raising hands. Not in surrender to shame — but surrender to truth. God doesn’t ask us to be flawless — He asks us to be honest.

So don’t hide behind your fig leaves. Don’t bury your accountability under someone else’s fault. Be braver than Adam. Be more honest than Eve. Step out of the bushes and say, “Yeah… that was on me.” Because God still meets us there — with clothes for our nakedness and plans for our future — proving again that even when we ruin paradise, grace refuses to leave us exposed.