David Paul Newell

Blueberries

There is something very visceral about picking fruit from a vine. Possibly its our wealthy society that seldom requires us to sow, we just reap. Having the convenience of grocery stores with fruit already neatly packaged into little clear plastic containers. The freedom to instantly partake and indulge in something we had very little to do with other than the 3 dollars we hand over the check out stand. But having spent only a half hour plucking little round ripe blueberries in the cool hours of the morning awakens me to the experience that is being missed. The pleasure of being amongst the vines surrounded by their fragrance and the smell of the soft damp soil being turned up beneath my feet. The sudden realization of the hours and hard labor invested into each plant that it might bring forth blossoms. The first hand knowledge of what it means to grow something, brings a value to each berry that was never before understood. Softly picking each branch so that only the ripe are taken. So that nothing goes to waste. And then the enjoyment of popping a single blueberry in my mouth with a heightened awareness of the life within it. I can’t help but wonder if out generation is any better off because of the ease prosperity and technology has allotted us. Could it be that without the experience from seed to flower, without hammer and nail instead of ikea directions. We are missing out on the whole experience. Like reading the last chapter of a book and expecting to have a grand conclusion instead of just confusion. Makes me wonder if I am ever bringing this same expectation in my relationship with God, if I might be wanting the fruits of the spirit without the pruning of the vines.