A Little Lower Than The Angels (The Generations Book 1) Read online

  The Generations

  a series

  This book is a work of fiction taken from the stories in God’s Holy Word. Any scriptures quoted are from the King James Version.

  If you’ve purchased this book without a cover, please be aware that it was reported as unsold to the publisher, therefore neither the author nor publisher have been paid. If a stripped copy, it should be considered stolen.

   2014 by Caryl McAdoo

  All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever- except short passages for reviews – without express permission. For information, address Post Office Box 622, Clarksville, Texas, 75426.

  First Edition

  November 2, 2014

  Printed and bound in the United States of America

  ISBN-13 978-1-5024-1227-0

  ISBN-10 1-5024-1227-6

  Cover Art by Judy Downs Levine

  www.ArtFelt.com

  Inquiries for volume purchases of this book may be directed to

  Post Office Box 622, Clarksville, Texas 75426

  For contact with the author or speaking engagements, please visit www.CarylMcAdoo.com

  5-star Reviews on

  A Little Lower Than the Angels

  I absolutely loved this book. I love CARYL, She is such a great author. No spoilers but it did touch my heart to the extent that I read the whole book through tears some happy and some sad and some just touching God moments. EVERYONE WILL LOVE THIS BOOK!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much Caryl for another great book.

  --Debbie Gnomes, Grants Pass, Oregon

  Well done, good and faithful servant of God was my first thought after reading A Little Lower Than The Angels. This Biblical fiction fleshes out the creation stories. Taking nothing away from scripture’s truth, Cary McAdoo offers an imagined story of what could be. Very well written, the book stirred my soul. My heart soared from its reminders of how the Father loves us; and it refreshed my love of Scripture. Only the Holy Bible has done that for me on such a level, and like it, this small book is one that you will want to pick up again and again.

  --Holly Michael, author, Crooked Lines

  5star Reviews on Caryl’s other Books

  Historical Christian ‘Western Adventure’ Romances

  Vow Unbroken book one

  With an intriguing plot line and well-developed characters, McAdoo, who's written nonfiction and children's fiction, delivers an engaging read for her first adult historical romance.

  --Publishers Weekly

  Loved this story! Fresh strong voice…. Well plotted and nicely paced. There’s a Louis L’Amour and All-American feel to Caryl’s writing. Beautiful romance, one of the nicest I’ve seen in a while. --Carrie Fancett Pagels, author

  Return to Shirley Plantation, a Civil War romance

  Hearts Stolen book two

  …a BIG genre for a whole lot of novel. I said it about Caryl McAdoo's debut "Vow Unbroken" and it goes for book 2, "Hearts Stolen". For me, McAdoo vaulted immediately into the ranks of a seasoned author--another great writer I'll follow closely. --Harold ‘Doc’ Wolfe, Wells, Indiana

  I really loved this book. It was fast paced. It has romance, historical and western lovers will love it too. All the characters are well developed. It grabs your attention on page one and never lets go. I don't want any spoilers so I will just say I loved everything about this book. I fell in love with a 4 year old boy in this book. He had me laughing or crying in every scene.

  --Debbie Gnomes, Grants Pass, Oregon

  Contemporary Mature Inspirational Romance

  Lady Luck's a Loser

  I love plots that are different, not the same old regular love story. I enjoyed that the characters…older and not your skinny beautiful people. I loved that the story kept my attention the entire way. --Teresa Denise Summers, Irving Texas

  A Little Lower

  Than the

  Angels

  Caryl McAdoo

  Dedication

  Every title, every story I write, is always dedicated first to God, to His Kingdom and His glory.

  And following Him, always to my beloved husband and best friend forever, Ron. I wouldn’t have any stories to share if it weren’t for him. He is my heart and my inspiration, and I love him more today than yesterday, but less than tomorrow. Praise be to God.

  As this series is called The Generations, it seems proper to also dedicate it to my husband’s and my ancestors and heirs. His grandparents, William & Ella McAdoo and Rudolph & Inez Lewis; and his parents, GW & Kathy McAdoo. My grandparents, George & Jessie Lawrence and Joe & Ruth Cloyd; and parents, Norm & Naomi Lawrence—all waiting with Jesus.

  Our four children—Matthew, Gregory, Cathryn, and Russell; the children they gave me from their love—Dana, Melissa, William, Janis, Carisa, and Tim; and our fourteen grandsugars: Michael, Naomi, Mercedes, Seth, Keldan, Caryn, Anna, Joi, Matthew, Wesley, Gregory, Christian, Benjamen, and Atticus.

  God has richly blessed Ron and me, and I look forward to many great-grandsugars, too!

  Author Acknowledgements

  All the credit for this version of the story of Adam and Eve and their children goes to Holy Spirit who teaches us all things and reveals Truth so that we can be set free and not perish—especially to Ron who’s blessed with such a gift of wisdom and God’s call on his life.

  And the Lord led me to a very talented and gifted artist who created my cover art. I know when she started this painting, she didn’t know then, but God knew and I am so grateful to Judy Downs Levine for painting Lion and Lamb and then sharing her amazing work with me and all of you! Thank you, Judy! God bless you! (www.ArtFelt.com)

  So that a story is readable, first you start with critique partners, and I have my Dogma (Daughters of God Made Authors) ladies who are each one God-sent: Holly Michael, Telena Contreras, Linda Rondeau, and Susan Karstan; plus the Red River Writers’ Workshop who hear many of the chapters as they’re written.

  Many sets of fresh eyes are also needed, and again God so blessed me with my beta readers: Louise Koiner, Leah Jones, and Margie Hausinger. And the last eyes are Lenda Selph’s who is a God-gifted proofreader. Her attention to detail and expertise continually astound me, and I so appreciate her efforts! Thank you, Lenda!

  I thank you all for your parts in making A Little Lower Than the Angels a worthy book that glorifies God and is faithful to His Word.

  About Biblical Fiction

  By its genre’s very name, A Little Lower Than the Angels is presented as untrue, not real, the definition of fiction is a story concocted purely from a writer’s imagination. On the other hand, Biblical--from the Bible—indicates truth and nothing but the truth! Every Word in the Bible is true. So no question; absolutely true.

  Jesus is the Truth. Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. John 14:6.

  Jesus is the Word. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. John 1:1; and again, And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood: and his name is called The Word of God. Revelation 19:13.

  So Biblical Fiction is an untrue, imagined story based on absolute truth. We could assume a writer of Christian Fiction is a Christ follower, so why don’t they adhere perfectly to the facts? I mean facts are the facts, after all.

  Personally, I get very frustrated with writers of Biblical Fiction who stray from the truth of the Word. Fiction gives them the right to flesh out the story, bring characters we know so well to life, but why do they change the truth of the story? Biblical facts that are unconditional!

  I’m pres
enting a series—The Generations—of stories I label Biblical Fiction. Imagination enhances the Word’s stories after much exploration for clues to flesh-out the facts. I’ll be surprised if I don’t meet Namrel in Heaven.

  I invite you, should you perceive—by the Word—that any part of this story is contrary to God’s Holy Word, to let me know where, how, and why. I am always ready to change my opinion if it is shown not to line up to the Word. Blessings! http://www.CarylMcadoo.com

  Chapter One

  For years, Cain dreamed of going to the high place. This day he would see God for himself, but best of all, tonight he and his sister would become one, as Padam and Meve.

  Bless the God of Creation, all of Cain’s dreams would come true.

  Already three-quarters up what his father called God’s Mountain, he lowered his bundle and looked back. He loved being so high, but never before on this mountain. The harsh ruggedness intrigued him.

  His plow would be useless here, wouldn’t make even a scratch. From his new vantage, he studied the valley below. The house and barns surrounded by his own fields and his father’s orchards appeared small enough to hold in his hands.

  He loved the effect his crops designed on the earth, but the new perspective clearly revealed the need to straighten the corn’s western boundary. He filled his lungs as he enjoyed the view.

  A stiff breeze far below rustled the fruit trees’ tops then swirled over to the wheat causing the blanket of green heads to wave and bend. He savored the sight a few more heartbeats then turned his face again to the summit.

  With his load slung over his shoulder once more, he climbed on toward the Lord’s special place. Following his father’s instructions, he reached Guard Rock, a head-high boulder that he recognized from Padam’s stories.

  It hid a small clearing just short of the peak.

  He set his offering on the ground, tugged on his tunic until it hung smoothly, then ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

  He opened his mouth and pulled hard and deep until he filled his lungs full of the thin mountain air, then blew it all out. A shadow fell on his soul, and he sank to his knees. His heart beat against the confines of his ribs.

  He would see God, or at least His finger. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. A fist-sized rock weighted the pit of his stomach.

  The wind picked up and whistled around the outcroppings and sparse brush. He stood, trudged to the boulder and peered around. His father sat motionless in the small clearing, stroking the head of a lamb.

  Amazing.

  Everything looked exactly as he imagined; Padam, the stone altars. All perfect. A waist-high pile of blackened stones stood flanked by almost identical, though uncharred, heaps. As firstborn, his position would be the right.

  A new strength flowed through him. He retrieved his pack and marched into the clearing.

  His father looked up and opened his mouth, but spoke no words. Only shook his head and looked away. Had there been a twinge of disgust on his face? But how could he know?

  Oh, how Cain wanted to blurt out his promise to Sheriah not to kill a lamb, to explain, but held his tongue. When God accepted his offering, and a new bloodless way of worshiping was ushered in, then his father would understand.

  Moving to the right, he sat before the altar. “Padam?” In awe and respect for the Holy ground, he barely whispered. “What do I do?”

  His father shook his head again. “Wait. Your brother will be here soon.”

  Cain looked away. He could wait all day sitting there in the dirt, but Abel would never come. Padam should know his soft-hearted son would never bring one of his precious lambs to slaughter.

  Ever since Cain and his twin understood why the lamb their father carried off every spring never returned from the mountain with him, Abel swore that if called, he would refuse to participate in the bloody ritual.

  The waiting gnawed at Cain. With each beat of his heart, the rock in his belly grew heavier. He wanted it all to be over, to acquire God’s acceptance of his first fruits and new way.

  The ground rumbled. The sky darkened.

  The shadow returned and whispered to Cain. “Run.”

  His heart raced, and sweat rolled down his face. He wanted to, would have, but could not. He took a deep breath and willed his heart to rest. After all, as firstborn, he would soon be a man and a husband.

  Padam’s lamb bleated. Another answered.

  Abel strode into the clearing with the yearling draped around his neck. The one he’d lavished so much extra care and attention on—the best one of all the rest. Without words, his father gestured toward the left altar, and Abel took his place.

  What a liar his brother turned out to be!

  Bile seeped in and pitched the heavy rock inside, forcing it upward again. It erupted into his mouth. The terrible taste made him want to spit, but he dared not. Not there. Not on God’s Holy Mountain.

  His father rose and carried the yearling to the center altar then turned to Cain and nodded.

  Swallowing hard, he held his breath and lifted his load. He meticulously emptied his bundle’s contents, the very best of his own labors, and arranged the offering in rows on top of his pile of stones.

  Standing motionless a moment, he admired the bounty. Who wouldn’t accept such a gift? He backed slowly away.

  Then Padam dipped his head toward Abel who laid his lamb on the third altar. A flint knife materialized in his father’s hand. With a smooth stroke, he opened his lamb’s throat, spilling its blood on the charred stones.

  As his brother did the same with his own yearling, a twinge of jealousy stabbed Cain. He had always wanted to kill one of Abel’s lambs, dreamed of it. This would have been his chance, but Sheriah would have been repulsed by it.

  He’d prove his new way the better. They would all see.

  Streaks of liquid fire cavorted across the darkening sky, followed by a series of crackling booms, each more deafening than the last.

  Cain tried to swallow again, but could not, as though his heart stopped beating all together and seized him. Thoughts of running disappeared as he sank to his knees. Finally, after all those stories of Eden, he would see God for himself.

  Sweat ran into his eyes. The salty rivulets stung. He swiped at them, unwilling to miss any part.

  Midst the darkness, a pure white cloud gathered above.

  The winds blew, and it moved directly over the mountain’s peak, hovering. An enormous finger of fire dropped from the whiteness, so bright he had to glance away, but looked back, shading his eyes.

  It extended toward the stone altars, and a thin stream of molten liquid leapt from God’s finger to the center altar.

  The lamb sizzled and burned until completely consumed. The speed of its consumption amazed Cain. Not even an ash—only the darkened stones—remained.

  The fire dissipated, as the smoke drifted upward and merged into the cloud, darkening it slightly.

  His father fell to his knees, spread his arms high in the air. “Bless You, Father, and thanks be unto You for accepting my sin offering.” He lowered his forehead until it rested on the rocky ground.

  Cain stood. As firstborn, he would be next.

  God’s finger extended again from the cloud. Cain watched it intently, inhaled an expectant breath, then kept it inside. The fire sprang from God’s finger, but instead of consuming his grains, it darted straight toward Abel’s lamb.

  No, this couldn’t happen.

  He was firstborn.

  God knew that.

  Padam claimed the Creator knew everything.

  The fire devoured his twin’s offering, and the sweet-smelling smoke wafted toward God’s cloud. Abel cried out something. The ringing in Cain’s ears distorted the words. His face burned.

  Who cared anyway what his brother babbled?

  His jaws clinched shut, and he glared first at the altar, the cloud above, then his twin. God should have accepted his offering second. Why hadn’t He? Cain glanced skyward, but his eyes could not
stand the brightness.

  WHY ARE YOU ANGRY CAIN

  The question came from the Almighty’s swirling cloud.

  WHY IS YOUR FACE DOWNCAST

  IF YOU DO WHAT IS RIGHT YOU WILL BE ACCEPTED

  SIN IS CROUCHING AT YOUR DOOR

  IT DESIRES YOU BUT YOU MUST MASTER IT

  Cain willed the Almighty to send fire to the remaining altar, the only one left not scorched. With each booming beat in his chest, his face burned hotter, and a mallet pounded in his head.

  But no fire came.

  Once the sky lightened to blue again, and God’s cloud disappeared, the blood drained from his face. How would he face her? He had failed, been rejected. He raised his fist to the sky, but not a trace of the white cloud remained.

  God had departed.

  Spreading his pack, he cleared the altar of his offering with one swipe of his forearm, gathered the corners around what remained onto his cloth, threw the bundle over his shoulder, then marched from the high place.

  Abel raised his head and immediately covered his eyes. Though the cloud vanished, the Lord’s golden afterglow proved a wondrous experience, even if he could hardly bear the brightness.

  After a fistful of heartbeats, he peeked between his fingers. His brother was nowhere to be seen, but his father remained prostrate before the center altar.

  When God had rebuked his brother, Abel remained perfectly still, dared not look or add to Cain’s shame. Now, he pushed himself to his feet and looked toward the path. Could his brother’s footfalls already be out of hearing?