Growing up as a wee child in Wisconsin and other northern states in the spring and summer, I experienced many opportunities not available to youth in some other spots in the USA. My father was a civil engineer, working for the USGS, the mapping department of the federal government. This job required him to be “feet on the ground,” as he took the aerial photos and verified the information. From that stage, the photos were sent to the main government offices to become topographical maps with which many readers will be familiar.
Occasionally Dad would return home with a handful of blueberries in his lunch box, and then suggest the family join him the following day. We would pack our lunch, get a couple of buckets, and hop in the truck for an adventure.
My senior memory suggests that blueberry plants were found in a slightly moist area, hugging the ground. The berries were hidden under rather waxy leaves. You squatted or crawled around, attempting to find a few, ‘itty-bitty’ blue morsels. That evening the house was filled with the aroma of a freshly baked berry pie. The berries were rather tart, and absolutely delicious coming straight from the oven.
Arriving in Illinois in 1958, following graduation from college, I was invited one spring Saturday to join a group to pick blueberries. Although I was excited, I thought crawling on my knees and bending would be a bit more uncomfortable than at the age of eight or ten, but the sense of adventure motivated me to respond with an eager, “Yes.”
Imagine my surprise when we arrived at the berry patch. No mossy area. No waxy bushes hiding the berries. Some plants required reaching up and the berries were not hidden, but hung in large, grape-like clusters. Rather than spending an entire day, our buckets were filled within an hour or two.
Recently we repeated this blueberry experience, and once again the aroma of baked blueberry bread was welcomed in our apartment. As I munched on a piece of blueberry pie, I thought about lessons learned from the blue-berry patch.
While plucking the tiny morsels, my mind wandered. Around me pickers of all ages, sizes, and ethnic groups were chattering way. Grape-like pickers, God is reaching out to everyone, short, tall, chunky, skinny, toddler or senior, hoping each may become a part of His family. We are each different, but valuable in His sight.
Most were using the “Look, pick, drop” system. The berries were clustered in clumps, sometimes hidden a bit within the leafy branches. The picker was required to search a bit for the ripe berry hidden among the green. You then plucked it and plopped it into your bucket. One two-year old changed the rhythm as he looked, picked, and then popped it into his mouth.
Just as the berries are clustered tightly in bunches, so people need to cluster and form communities of believers. Community is essential as young and mature believers grow, learn, and leave. As you pick a ripe berry, you provided space for the green to grow. The same is true for a community of Christ followers. We teach and help the youth mature. We then vanish and new growth oversees leadership responsibilities.
Filling our containers, the three of us prepared to leave. There was one more challenge — MONEY. We had to pay for the berries and the privilege of picking. Christ paid the ransom for us with His death on the cross. We cannot buy our way into heaven, but it does also cost His followers. We must work, spend time both in worship and in service. We volunteer to sing, serve, and share our love of God, but in the process, we may be required to give a bit of time, energy, and even omission of some other options available to us.
But, just like the wonderful aroma of baking pies, or the nip of tartness as we eat the fresh berry on our cereal brings physical joy, so being a part of the Christian “berry” family can be a truly joyful, hallelujah feeling.
Won’t you join me in the “blueberry patch” of life?
Kathryn Ransom 