“The perfect tomato!” I held it in my hand and felt it’s plump, juicy roundness. It was still warm after being plucked from my neighbor’s garden. We have a barter system. They give me their excess tomatoes and I bake homemade bread for them. It works. I stand over this little marvel, knife in hand and hesitate. Shame to destroy such perfection, but then again, it’d be a greater shame not to eat it!
Tomatoes represent summer to me. I remember my mom’s garden, how she would come in wiping the sweat off her forehead with a dirty gloved hand. In her other hand would be a bowl filled with deep red tomatoes. Her offering of love to us.Plan, till, sow, water, reap. An age-old cycle repeated before my eyes.A sermon in a vegetable.A visible reminder of my Father in Heaven’s love and his commands to us.
John 9:4 (New International Version)
4As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work.
Plan, till, sow, water, reap. Amen.