It
was this time of year, when the sun shines long all day that mother would bring
them home.
They
would come in a little paper carton, just like the store would have given her,
but we knew these were not from the store.
These
sun kissed, handpicked raspberries were from Mrs. Kleina’s garden. These were
summer to me.
Rarely
did mother purchase more than one pint, this tiny basket was an extravagance
and we all knew it. Every once in a
great while I would get to go with mother to visit that beautiful raspberry garden; rows of green with pink and red dots
peaking through.
I
would beg to go pick them, but mother had a reverence for this garden like it
was holy ground. The thought was never
even entertained. Mrs. Kleina knew when
they were ripe and Mrs. Kleina knew just how to avoid the tiny little
thorns. This was her symphony and my
little girl eyes watched in awe as she conducted it.
When
our little raspberry patch started to produce this summer, it was Mrs. Kleina that
came to mind. We taught our girls what a
ripe raspberry looks like. We taught
them how to gently lift the vines and how to lay the ripest berries on a tray. We didn’t have to teach them how to sample
the taste especially if the sun had warmed them. They learned that on their own.
It
was Lily and her daddy that had the idea to freeze them. I would not have had the patience for
this. I am the toddler who cannot wait
for Christmas. As the raspberries came
in the house, I was thinking of sugaring them for ice cream within the
hour. Not these two, Lily and her Dad
carefully bag each delicate treasure and freeze.
We are adrift with birthdays in the summer
and Lily was planning raspberry muffins with raspberry whip cream for birthday
morning. I watched weeks later as she
took her dough and carefully added the raspberries.
The
muffins came out of the oven. She was
stirring and tasting the pink whipped cream.
It was a feast for my eyes to watch.
Finally,
birthday morning for her brother and Lily was wild with delight to serve her
creation. The muffins dripped with
moisture and the raspberries oozed out.
Lily’s little sister said what we were all thinking, “Give me one full
of raspberries!” Lily did not
disappoint.
We
sampled and savored and complimented.
Birthday mornings do not get better than this and I breathed in this
memory and hoped the sweet fragrance would last forever.
This
is how we want life to be – full and memorable.
And isn’t life supposed to be that?
The
older I get the more I realize God is in the business of creating full, rich
extraordinary lives. I however am often
in the business of emptying.
The
psalmist penned it so eleoquently,
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
I
have missed this for decades; we are to be full
of wonderful, because HE the
creator, and the lover of our very souls has made us.
Imagine
When
he was carving mountains, you and I were on His mind.
The
eyes, the hands, the feet, yes, perhaps even the hips were all HIS design. How do we ever not feel full?
The
enemy is the emptier.
He
strikes fear and our capacity to serve and our belief in our design pours out
like rain. He
fashions pride and our willingness to talk to the lonely neighbor and the
snotty store clerk abandons us. He
distorts our view in the mirror and we are blinded to the beautiful God placed
there.
We
are not the miles we jogged, the books we read, the degrees we have earned. We are not the people we know, the address we
live, or the bank account that bears our name.
We
are like each and every one else that walks the planet, fully made, fully loved,
fully designed wonderfully by the Father who adores us.
I
want to squeeze the raspberries out of the chocolate as much as I want to
squeeze what He has for me this side of heaven.
I want to listen with ears that hear the whispers of the Holy
Spirit. I want to walk jagged roads by
His side. I want to embrace Him in the
valleys and shout His name on the mountain tops. I want to pick the sweetness of life, even if
I have to fight through the thorns, because He is worth it. His story is worth it. His promises are worth it.
I
truly believe if we choose to not fully live, we rob the glory from His death
and His resurrection.
O
sweet friend, LIVE
FULL!
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand—
when I awake, I am still with you.
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand—
when I awake, I am still with you.
Psalm 139:14-18
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