Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Black-a-Berry Picking

Wyatt has begged all day to go "black-a-berry" picking in Opa's hay field. So, after a blessed, cooling rain shower, all five of us loaded up in the silver Gator. Just so you know, Wyatt's version of this outing involves no picking and all eating on his part. In fact, since he doesn't like the vines scratching his legs, he's constantly saying, "Ow! That hurt. You carry me? Pick me up." Mommy ignores such requests. Daddy is a pushover.
We've picked berries on two different occasions this month--the only person who has eaten a berry is (you guessed it) Wyatt and oh has he inhaled them. This is the face of a guilty boy who has been caught purple-handed! The juice has coated his right hand and then dripped down to his elbow! He might have been cleaner if I would have just dipped him in a wine vat.

At one point, Wyatt was standing in waist-high hay grass mixed with new blackberry vines that were shooting up here and there, and he wouldn't move for fear of one of them scratching his legs. I was about 100 feet away and had picked two big handfulls of berries, so I begged him to bring the bucket. Nope. Wouldn't budge. He then stretched out his hand as far as he could toward me and said, "Ugh. I can't reach it." I tried again: "I have lots of berries. Don't you want them?" He tries another tactic, too: "You come carry me." I then tried telling him to walk around the little blackberry vines. This time, he responded, "You hold my hand?" I gave up, walked toward him, gave him the fruit, and walked with him towards the Gator.

And, it immediately struck me about the path God has asked me to walk over the last few years, a path laden with thorns, a path I haven't wanted to walk at times because I knew the wounds I would definitely receive. I've always wanted the blessings, the fruit, that God has to give me, but just like Wyatt, I want to stand in a safe place, reach out to God and say, "I can't reach it," hoping He'll just come to me where I am. However, my heavenly Father patiently insists that I walk the path He's set before me. Even so, He still cares for me just like Doug and I cared for Wyatt tonight. Sometimes my Father makes me walk the thorny path myself, but even then, He walks by my side. Other times, when I'm frozen, hurting, and too afraid to move one step forward, He carries me. I am thankful. I am never alone.

1 comment:

  1. Such a great story and beautiful picture of our walk with God!

    I love how you use the parables of your life to speak to us!

    You make me think of one of my favorite bloggy friends. Check her out on my blogroll at her blog Thirsty. Great stories...