Tag: gratitude

Savor the Tomato

There are moments when life just feels a little overwhelming, when it feels hard even though I know it’s not. There are moments when I doubt what I am doing and why; when I wonder if I am just a happy hamster running around and getting nowhere.

But then, like a pot of gold at the rainbow’s end, I have ripe tomatoes. The birds did not get them; the squirrels did not get them; the blight did not get them. Red, ripe tomatoes grown in my back yard. They are almost too precious to cut into and eat, but I do. Uneaten, they will rot on the counter and that would be too great a waste.

I eat the smaller ones like an apple. They are tangy and juicy and taste like summer. The smell reminds me of my grandparents and my husband. I sense a connection with a long line of ancestors who grew their own food. This is how food should be. A reward for effort and diligence, a gift that grows through God’s miracle of seed and transformation, connecting me with the earth in a way that the ones on sale at Kroger can’t.

I slice and eat the large tomato on white bread with mayo and salt. I only eat white bread with tomatoes and cucumbers in an effort not to overpower their flavors with the flavor of the bread. There is something of childhood in the soft squares of white bread, a simplicity lost in the multigrain, nutty, textured bread I usually favor.

It’s a lot of emotions for lunch.

God said, “See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food.” God saw everything he had made, and indeed, it was very good. Genesis 1:29,31.

Too often I go through the motions. I do what needs to be done without much thought. I lose myself in a book or a movie. I eat the food in front of me and talk to the people around me and remember very little of it. This simple meal of homegrown tomatoes reminds me to be fully present in every moment as I am in this one.

This food, these people, these tasks have meaning and purpose. Their stories are the culmination of generations of stories. Our interactions are woven into a tapestry that will ripple through future generations. Don’t breeze through it; don’t let it pass without giving it your attention. Somehow, the simple act of savoring this one tomato sandwich has slowed time for me, infused this moment with meaning, and shown me a purpose in my actions. I work in the garden so that I can savor this sandwich. I write this so perhaps you can savor this moment as well.

We are all so beautifully connected and interrelated, with each other, with those who came before us and those that will come after us, with the earth and everything on it. This moment may only be a drop of rain in a torrential storm, but without the individual drops there would be no rain at all.

I give thanks to God for this moment, this tomato, this opportunity to share His wonders with you. It is indeed very good.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and do not forget all his benefits. Psalm 103:1-2

Love in Christ, Betsy

A Thanksgiving Story

It was Thanksgiving morning, and the man sat alone in his chair watching the parade on tv. For what was he to be thankful? That his family hadn’t abandoned him after his wife’s death? Ha. He knew they hung around for the money.

No, life was hard. He had studied hard and worked hard and accumulated enough to be comfortable. No one had ever given him anything; why should he thank anyone? Certainly not God, who had taken his wife. Well, maybe not taken. It was time, she was suffering. Maybe he could be thankful she had not lingered on for years in declining ability, worsening health.

But that was just the whims of life and death. He would die someday too. Everybody did. His hard work over the years had paid for the best medical care and daily help available. That was the most he could do. Her death and his death were out of his hands.

Were they in anyone’s hands? Did God ordain when people were born and died? Some people thought so, but it made no sense to him. Certainly, his life was his own to live. People made bad choices which led to an early death; others made good choices that led to a long life.

Except it didn’t always work out that way. Mean-spirited alcoholics lived into their nineties; kind nurses in their twenties were shot in a random act of violence. Obviously no intelligent being planned this.

Unless there was more to “life” than how long you lived it.

He looked out the window at the clear blue sky. He knew it was cold out there. The bare limbs of the tree stood stark against the bright sun. It was stunning. How many moments had he carved out his busy schedule to admire the beauty of late fall? Very few. He had the time now.

He pushed himself out of the chair and walked to the windows. A cardinal sat on a bare branch, his mouth opening and shutting as he called his mate. A murmuration of starlings swooped and swarmed against the blue sky. A squirrel darted up the tree trunk, twitched, and scampered back down. The world was alive out there and it was beautiful.

What a gift to be able to see and appreciate such beauty. He could be thankful for that. He didn’t make the birds, the squirrel. He didn’t even plant the tree or help it grow. Had others done so, or were these just gifts from the universe, accidents in time?

The cardinal turned to face him, tilting his head. Such bright red feathers, such a beautiful crown. The bird seemed as interested in him as he was in the bird. He felt his throat constrict and tears gather in his eyes. What in the world? As if this bird was telling him to remember all the beauty in the world. That this beauty was no accident, but a gift. A gift from a loving God.

The parade still played in the background, loud and falsely cheerful announcers yelling over the carnival sounds. He couldn’t turn away from the cardinal. This silent bird was speaking to his heart in a way the tv announcers never would.

God is real. God is good. God loves you. Give him thanks.

What had he done, really, all by himself? He did not make himself smart. It was not his choice to be born in a peaceful time in a country with a stable economy. He had been successful, but others had helped him along the way. He’d had a long marriage to a wonderful woman, children that would come and take him to their house for dinner later that day. He had food and shelter and clothing and warmth. He could look out his window and see a beautiful world.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for giving us this day to stop and recognize your presence in the world. Thank you for family and friends and food. Thank you for the beauty of your creation. Thank you.

Love in Christ, Betsy