Joe Machine

A young goatherd was sitting on a large rock in the morning. He was still sleepy. There were short trees on the side of the mountain and the goats were reaching up to get at the new leaves.

Enoch passed by the boy. He was deep in thought. He held his hands behind his back. It was his 365th birthday. At a turn in the track he felt the brush of a cheek against his face. Then a voice spoke in his ear. 

 ‘Enoch it is a fine day. See, the fig trees are all in bloom.’

The old man looked sideways but he could see no sign of speaker. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I am He,’ came the reply. ‘And I have been following you on this path.’

The voice sounded like that of his grandfather. The tone was matter of fact, calm, everyday. Enoch broke his stride. ‘Lord, what do you want?’

‘I want you to walk with Me to the top of this mountain.’

‘Very well,’ said Enoch.

From a distance the goatherd saw Enoch take the turn and so he was lost from view.

The old man walked slowly, for the way was steep. It grew cold up there towards the peak. The voice seemed to have paused but soon it came again. ‘Enoch these are wicked days. Of all people it is only you that I wish to wander with this morning.’

‘I have always tried to be faithful to you Lord,’ said Enoch as he pulled his coat tight around his chest.

‘That you have; always. So, now that we are reaching the summit and the clouds are below us I wish for you to take My hand.’

Enoch looked all around. ‘Where is it Lord?’

‘Here,’ said the voice. And sure enough, a warm hand grasped his. ‘Enoch, I set the sand of days and years flowing so that men would know how to measure their deeds against the span of their lives, but I am taking you out of this time I created. You will pass over, living and whole, into My Kingdom.’

Enoch, ever quiet and steady went with God. Neither the young goatherd, nor any other man saw him again.