I think I’ve picked my last bowl of raspberries for the season.
What a great harvest! I think about that lovely routine of gathering all the ripe things in life. The summer and early fall felt so abundant and juicy.
But now? I look at all the withered things about the garden. I know it’s a necessary ending–that wintering in order to grow fruit again next summer–but it feels so empty.
The feeling only lasts a moment because I know this: with a freezer full of berries, I’ll feast on sweet things all winter. I’ve stored up, like those who recall God’s great faithfulness in seasons of emptiness, so it’s not empty at all. We feast on what we’ve stored up of Him.
Maybe that’s what winter is for. It’s a deeper enjoyment, a deeper feast.