It’s time. Finally, it’s time. I can finally venture to the garden each morning to pick a bowlful of ripe raspberries.
What a simple pleasure that connects my soul to all the things I treasure: simplicity, nature, and grace!
Yes, the raspberry reminds me of God’s favor on our lives and the grace we enjoy every day. I didn’t invent the raspberries. I didn’t even do the work to make them amazing; my neighbor donated her canes to me, and then my only job was to wait for the blessing and then catch it in my bowl.
I don’t even water these. Pennsylvania receives more than enough rainfall to make these raspberries healthy. And the soil is so nutrient-rich that I don’t need to add anything to it unless I wanted to. If I did anything at all, it was an act to protect the undeserved blessing from predators. I know how to fence them in and keep the pests away.
But really, that’s the work of keeping the unearned gift.
Everything about raspberries is undeserved and unearned. Yet here I sit, gobbling them up as the gift from heaven they are. As everything is.
There’s nothing here that wasn’t given.