Geens

Geens. The cherry trees we planted 36 years ago are having a bumper season. Jam. Cakes. Pie?

These lovely sweet cherries are small, though, and as I sat for an hour today removing each pit with a straw, (the bespoke cherry pitter which I ordered won’t arrive probably until the harvest is over!), I noticed how neatly and cleanly this rudimentary method popped out each pit, leaving no heart in the sweet cherries.

I’d been thinking about refugees. I’m still praying for those families broken apart at the US / Mexico border. For those babies who may never again see their mothers, their dads. For those anguished parents only seeking asylum, safety, who instead were met with cruelty and humiliation. In a very rudimentary way, their hearts were popped out, leaving them bereft and hollow.

My forebears were immigrants to the USA. Not refugees as such, but honest people looking for a safe home, for new horizons. They were welcomed in by others who had done the same thing. Welcomed in, not shut out.

God will never crush a bruised reed, he promises in Psalms. I think of the amazing love of the father of the prodigal son, eye on the horizon continually, looking for his wayward son. No wall greeted the returning prodigal. No hard heart. No closed door. No violence and separation. Only open arms and unconditional love.

The Lord is close to the broken hearted. May he be close to all those bereft of mummies, daddies and children as a result of an evil policy enacted by a heartless, selfish individual. Lord, have mercy.