Pears, peace, and The Pundit's Folly.

God is good.


As I was near a hormonal breakdown over these last few days, he heard my cry.


And so he sent me these:

Sigh.


He knew exactly what I needed.


Pears are therapy.


As I sat picking out the ripe ones yesterday to prepare them for dehydration, I just felt this overwhelming peace that I have been missing.  I slowly washed each one, carefully cutting out the bruises.  Then, I cut them carefully into thin slivers, and placed them on the dehydrating sheet.  Nothing fancy.  Nothing formal.  Just me, a paring knife, a box of pears, and a little baby burying her head into the back of my knees.


Have you ever heard the old story about a mother telling her daughter to pick all the seeds out of a watermelon?  To ease her mind?


Well, these pears were those watermelon seeds.

The sky was overcast, but warm, and the smell of those ripe, deliciously juicy pears just took my mind to fall.  To a time of coziness and comfort.  And that's exactly what I needed.

When I asked our landlord/neighbor if I could purchase a few box of pears during harvest, he lovingly told us that we could glean as many as we liked after they were finished picking.  So J-Money, Stuart, G-Baby, and I waddled through the orchard, our hands full of pears from the ground and upper limbs.  I don't think Lee knows how much gleaning means to this little 'ol heart of mine.  I surely do not mind cutting around the bruises of the imperfect fruit.


As I continually chase the chores to be accomplished on the homestead this time of year, I am reminded of a most wonderful excerpt from a favorite book of mine: The Pundit's Folly.


     You have made us for yourself
     and our hearts are restless
     until they find their rest in you.


There is nowhere else to go, no other foundation from which we can drink to quench our thirst.  God alone can do that.


Be it momentary joy, I will no more find a continued peace of mind in this box of pears than I will in a clean house.  These chores, albeit important and glorifying, shall pass.  The joy that they bring shall fade.  As Scottish poet Robert Burns penned:


     But pleasures are like poppies spread
     You seize the flower, the bloom is shed
     Or like the snow falls in the river
     A moment white, then melts for ever...
     Or like the rainbow's lovely form
     Evanishing amid the storm.


I suppose I have spent far too much time hoping I could find satisfaction in accomplishing tasks and chores, when really, true rest and contentment can only be found in the Lord.  And it is only through Him I can find the peace I so deeply desire.


Although sometimes, truly, I do believe he sends that peace in a box of pears.


Because He knows what I need before I even ask.


Even if that need is a fruit.


And Amen.