The crisp air of the morning was slowly clearing off the land. The dew dripped from the branches of the ferns and trees that reached up to the pink sky. The hum of cicadas, the croak of frogs, and the shrill calls of birds echoed through the trees. From the thick foliage emerged the creatures of the day, to scrimmage and search for food. Huge animals and small, hidden in the jungle, now came to life. The powerful and the weak, the harmless and the deadly.
A huge reptile sluggishly crawled out from some foliage onto a pathway to bask in the sunlight. This path was the pathway of man, the most feared of all creatures.
Over the hill, in a plain void of vegetation, was their dwelling. Right now you could see small spirals of smoke, reaching into the heavens from the ovens of the homes, cooking the meals for the day. They were nice little houses, made of mud, stone, and timber. Their cracked and dried earth unique in their pristine world.
The streets were very quiet at this time of morning, for the sun was just rising. But hark! Hurried footsteps now were coming down the street, echoing off the barren walls. A little lady, running down the street, her hair flailing about in a wild mess, her eyes darting back and forth until at last she got to a small house where she pounded on the door.
“Who’s there?” called someone from within.
“Marel!” she called.
The door opened. “What are you doing out at this time, Mother?” said the huge man who filled the doorway.
“It’s Enoch,” she gasped, “I can’t find him!”
“He probably went off up the hill to pray.” said her son, Methuselah.
“No, he hasn’t, I went up there myself. He’s usually back by this hour.”
“Relax, mother. Come in and eat breakfast with us. If he hasn’t shown up by the time the sun is risen, we will go and look for him. He’s strong, I’m sure he’s ok.”
Faraway, in a new and unfathomable world, stood Enoch, wonderstruck.
“Enoch,” said a still small voice . . .
The sun now was reaching into the sky. A pale yellow, it’s rays refracting through the shell of water that covered earth, making the climate nice and steady.
Methuselah now sat deep in thought. His father still hadn’t showed. Where on earth could he be? Yes, his father was devoted to God, but he was also devoted to his family. Where was he?
Methuselah, three hundred and sixty-five years old, a strong young man, built like an ox. His huge muscles bulging underneath his tan skin.
He got up to go. He would look for his father around the hill where his father so often resorted. The hill where his father went to escape the noise, and be alone with God.
Lamech, Methuselah’s son, stood next to him. He was a strong boy, making his daddy proud. Gaunt and strong, Lamech was a hard worker. “Ready to go, father?” He asked.
“Yes. Let’s go.” Methuselah picked up his big heavy staff.
Men from the whole village were standing about now, chatting with each other. Weapons were tied to their waists, staves in their hands. As Methuselah approached, they parted into four groups.
“Alright!” called a hairy brawny man, “Let’s go!”
The search parties set out to search for the missing patriarch. Hours of fruitless searching lay in front of them: for Enoch was not, for God had taken him.
Hours later, Methuselah sat on the stone under the aging weeping willow that was entrenched on the hill where his father had so oft resorted to pray. He could remember those times when his little feet had been following close behind through the thick grass and bracken.
Somewhere in the jungle, a creature roared. The ground vibrated at the sound. He gripped his sword that hung by his side. Could it be that his father fell victim to one of the many savage creatures out there?
He wiped the sweat from his brow. It was so tiring pushing through all the foliage. The sun now was setting. The sky was becoming dark red. He sighed. Something inside him was telling him that his daddy was gone. Hope forbade the thought, but it wouldn’t go away. He gazed up into the sky, was his daddy somewhere up there with God? That was his prayer. Had it suddenly become reality? He slowly walked back home.
The days that passed saw the search parties head out in the morning, and come back empty-handed each evening. Finally they gave up. Enoch had disappeared. As time passed, a story began to circulate. Enoch, the man of God, had been taken by God himself into the heavens. Enoch, the man who was perfect, had been taken away by God, it was a story that became a legend whispered around the tables and fires of families near and far.
But it was so much more than a story, and it was more than a legend. It was reality.
“And Enoch walked with God: and he was not; for God took him.” (Gen 5:24)

Author’s notes: This story is a dramatization of Enoch. Not much is said about Enoch, but he was one of two men recorded in Scripture who never died. Whether those around him saw him go up to heaven like Elisha did, or no one did, is not recorded. I have written the story as though that no one knew what happened. I hope that you can feel the immensity of what really happened so many years ago, when a grandfather disappeared from planet Earth.


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