One of the joys of Northwest living is picking our own fruit. Blueberries, strawberries, and blackberries have overflowed our fridge and freezer, and the conglomerations of recipes we've made with these fruits has been beyond scrumptious. But the fruit that has showed me my own heart is the peach.
We drove 15 minutes to a rural orchard symmetrically lined with peach trees that were heavy with luscious fruit. With our box in hand on this warm day, we started feeling the fuzzy, yellow fruit to make sure that it was just right and ready to be picked. We wanted to make sure and not get the ones that were rotten, too long on the tree, or had already fallen on the hard ground. At least, that's what I told the kids. But as I looked at this one peach that seemed to be quite ripe, a bit bruised and about to fall off the fingers of the branch that were holding it and onto the well-trodden ground below, I gazed long and hard at it. I thought: if I don't give it a chance, who will? Why do we discard the bruised fruit so quickly when we haven't even seen the inside of it? We judge a book by its cover. We determine it can't possibly be sweet and delicious.
We paid for our box full of sweet peaches, and I eyed my special one. This bite was for all of those who had given me a chance. For those who hadn't given up on me. And for all of those special, treasured people in my life who aren't perfect, but who make my life sweeter, tastier, more special and meaningful. And for grace, that perfect, undeserved gift that has been extended to those who accept it as their own. If it weren't for God's grace, we would all be discarded, trampled on the ground.
As I bit into this chosen peach, it was absolutely delicious, and I thought of all those sweet peaches in my life. I enjoyed the savory flavor all the more!
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| From the tree to the oven to our tastebuds! |
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