Preserves

Preserves. I’m not sure if that is a word used in the UK for jams, but ‘back home’ we sometimes call jams, preserves. It’s a nice name, redolent of having something of value that you want to save for later pleasure.

I couldn’t resist the voluptuous brambles growing at the end of the road yesterday, and within 15 minutes had 3 pounds of plump berries. I came home and immediately set to making them into jam. Preserving their taste. In order to do this, according to the recipe I found on Google, I had to cook the berries in a little water and lemon juice for an hour to break them down and make them into a soft mush. Then I added the sugar and boiled hard until the jam was ready for bottling.

There is something immensely satisfying in seeing a cupboard full of preserves. Independent of electrical power (like all those berries in the freezer). They are there for years, until they are needed.

I love the joy of sharing the bounty with others, too. Most people are delighted to receive a jar of homemade jam, free of additives.

Jesus looks at us and, (I know this is a flight of fancy), he sees plump berries. (I make no comment on the plump aspect…) All we need is him, the sugar, and the steady heat of the Holy Spirit to preserve us. Then he can give us to the world, to sweeten the sourness, to encourage and cheer, to draw others into the fold.

May you be a sweet dollop of preserves to others today!

Brambling

Just back from picking brambles. The sun is out; the sky is blue; my heart was singing to the Lord (and so was my mouth sometimes!)

As I filled my fourth punnet, I thought of the lavishness of this year’s bramble and cherry harvests. Delicious fruits, growing without any husbandry. They grow on the verges of the fields, fields which the farmer lavishes with care and chemicals, fields which yielded poor crops this year because of unusual weather conditions.

Everyone watches the fields for the harvests and bemoans the poor result. Relatively nobody is looking along the verges, which the Lord is blessing with abundance.

I thought of my own prayer life. I lavish most prayers on certain people and situations. I watch carefully for signs of growth. Meanwhile, what is the Lord doing along the neglected verges of my life? I am missing great things when I fail to see what the Lord is doing, and join in with him to bring in the harvest.

So my prayers  coming back changed as I asked him to show me the verges in my life, so that I can join in to bring in an abundant harvest, a harvest all down to the Lord of the harvest. I asked him to give us more workers in our community, to scour the verges for signs of growth and then to nurture and bring it into the Kingdom.

And if you’re out my way, bring some empty punnets. The verges are ripe unto a delicious harvest.

Gems in the Hedges

My fingers are stained purplish red. Yes, it’s that time of year, and I’m just in from an hour dodging the thorns of gorse bushes and wild roses to bring in some big and beautiful brambles – local word for blackberries.

When we moved here thirty years ago, the narrow country lanes were littered with cars pulled in to the verge as folk got out and picked the crop of wild brambles. Now, the occasional cyclist stops and picks a few, but other than that I seem to be one of the last.

But is there anything more bursting with flavour and colour than a bramble crumble? Hard to beat.

Perhaps people are just too busy to linger along the roadsides or spend a few minutes in the kitchen. Perhaps they don’t know what they’re missing. Or perhaps they’ve never noticed these little gems twinkling in the autumn sun.

Sometimes they are obscured and need a keen eye to find. Sometimes they are just hanging out there invitingly. They take a bit of time to pick and a bit of effort to prepare, but not much, for the returns.

Many of God’s blessings are like the brambles. They are there, twinkling in the undergrowth of our lives, and we may not even notice them, recognise them for what they are, or thank the giver for his generous gifts. If we don’t do anything about them, they may wither away and never be gathered in to feed others.

May you find many gems in the hedges of your spiritual hearts, in the web of your daily life, lavished on you by the God who loves you so much. Savour them for what they are: unmerited gifts from an Almighty Father.

Gems on the Roadside

Morning by morning new mercies I see.

I found myself singing out this old favourite hymn this morning as I walked with Dusty down the road. Great is thy faithfulness.

Found myself singing, despite the sudden death of a dear old friend yesterday, the loss of a personality in this world who brought joy and cheer and wise words to many. The loss of a carer in her family. Heaven’s gain, is our loss.

Yet I was singing. I heard the birds singing, and wondered if they experience grief. How much more often they must suddenly miss a bird from a neighbouring nest, or even a mate or chick. Maybe I’m taking this too far, but I don’t think so. Animals have the capacity for emotion, too, I think. Dusty certainly does anyway.

I carried a punnet with me. Yes, as I admitted in yesterday’s blog, I’m a pack rat and the brambles are ripening nicely along the verges and in the hedges.

Was a time, thirty years ago, when elderly couples parked their old Morris minors precariously along the verges and could be seen picking all the wee sweet gems they found. No longer. The hazards on the country roads these days are in the form of packs of cyclists who range across the road widths, sometimes oblivious to traffic building up behind. They seek fitness and health. Do they achieve it in a better way than those who used to glean along the edges of the road, go home and make crumbles and jams and cakes from these fruits grown without chemicals? Debatable.

Now it’s just me, dotting from bush to bush as Dusty moseys along the road in front of me. 

Sometimes the plump black berries glint like deep blue sapphires among the willow herb. Easy to spot, easy to pick. Sometimes they lurk beneath leaves, over walls, under bushes, needing to be ferreted out. Not all are ready for picking. Some are still red and solid, waiting for the kiss of sun which will sweeten its taste.

Inside, I’m still sad. Grieving for my friend, for her family, so suddenly bereft of her sunny disposition. But I’m picking the fruits which God has provided. All I need, his hand provides. He knows the sorrow, and he provides for that, too. He knows the anxieties, and he has a solution for that as well.

Sometimes the gems he gives us are obvious and drop into our laps. Other times we need to linger, to look carefully, to listen, to glean. 

Today, as I came up the drive, a drop fell from the tree above. I thought at first it was a heavy droplet from rain the night before. But it was white.

A bird dropping, right on two of my beautiful brambles. (Don’t worry, anyone who might be served crumble at my house – they will be carefully washed!)

We need to take care that the world doesn’t soil the gems God gives us. 

May you glean diamonds from the treasury of God our loving father today. Just watch out for the birds overhead...