They grow in the field behind our house.
My son and I just picked a small, bucket-full of fresh, wild blackberries. A harvest of delicious and nutritious bites of awesome.
Picking blackberries is pretty simple. Watch out for the thorns. Be careful not to squish each berry. Eat slightly fewer berries than you place in your bucket. Check for snakes!
We didn’t plant the blackberries. We didn’t water them. We didn’t fertilize them. We didn’t provide for them.
We simply enjoy them. That’s grace.
It’s free – and amazing.
The ancient Israelites were told not to harvest the corners of their fields – so as to provide food for weary travelers. As we were picking blackberries, we picked some for our family, some for our neighbor, and we left many on their bushes – for others to enjoy.
My son found the blackberries. He was so excited. I was in the house. He burst through the front door, hands full, calling “Daddy!”.
What a blessing, to pick those wild blackberries, side-by-side, talking about our day. He, picking the ones nearer the ground. Me, picking the ones harder to reach.
He’s getting older, I have no idea how many more springs he’ll be excited, be ready to go, set for adventure at a moments notice. Throwing the ball, riding bikes, hiking through the woods. These things still fascinate him. I hope they always will.
The wild blackberries are in the refrigerator, washed and ready to eat. There are thousands of them in the field, not quite ready for harvest. No doubt, we will return, buckets ready, until the summer heat takes them away. Until then, we will enjoy this “grace” in our lives. Delicious food. Sun on our backs. Time together.