Session Five: Enoch in Thin Space
ENOCH // “THIN SPACE”
A private journal entry. Scribbled in charcoal onto a piece of unfinished cedar. Found wedged between the floorboards of a heavenly workshop. Smells faintly of rain, shame, and bagels.
I didn’t walk with God to make a statement.
I walked because the world felt too heavy, and He didn’t.
People say I vanished.
But I didn’t run.
I leaned.
There’s a difference.
It wasn’t dramatic. I wasn’t in the middle of a prophecy or mid-prayer with lightning behind me. I was chewing.
Three bites into a poppy seed bagel.
Cicadas were humming. The sun was… warm, not flashy.
And then it was gone.
The heat. The bagel. The sound.
And I was standing where no one had ever stood.
I asked Him to promise not to do that again.
Not like that.
It’s too much.
Not everyone’s meant to be taken mid-chew.
People talk. They whisper. They canonize what they don’t understand.
They say I must’ve been righteous. That I had secrets.
I didn’t.
I had routine.
I had Beatrice.
Mom wasn’t “Awan,” okay? That’s fan fiction with extra shame.
Her name was Beatrice VanAwan. She was stubborn and sweet and braided my hair once when I passed out in the vineyard. She didn’t like Dad’s anger, but she didn’t hate him either.
And for the record: no, they weren’t twins.
And no, I don’t know who else God made.
And no, the city wasn’t the problem.
That city? The one with my name on it?
That’s where I felt God’s breath in the angles of every beam.
He loved symmetry. Still does.
Jesus showing up as a carpenter? Not a coincidence.
We made things. Together.
He held the string, I leveled the stone.
I didn’t earn anything.
I just kept showing up.
But when I got here?
Oh man. The expectations.
You think sainthood feels heavy? Try being the prototype of ascension.
People think I glow in the dark.
They apologize when they cuss around me.
“Oops, sorry, Enoch. Pardon my French.”
I want to say: Ce n’est pas du français, connard.
But I don’t.
Because now I’m the quiet one with no exit.
Methuselah’s still salty.
Oldest man to ever live. That’s his thing.
And still—every trivia night someone pipes up,
“What about Enoch?”
I didn’t mean to take that from him.
I just got… called early.
And Irad.
He wasn’t done needing me.
That kid’s eyes never made peace with the ground.
He looked for me every time the wind changed.
And I never came back.
People ask what it’s like to be taken.
But nobody asks what it’s like to be missed.