Whoever it was who so quaintly said “life is just a bowl of cherries” was either tremendously naive, or a master of understatement. Because if you spend time around a cherry tree that knows its business, you know better than to refer to its fruit in any kind of singular. Obedient trees yield too much fruit for anyone to deal with.
I love the picture of blessing that fruit trees are. All this bounty – turning dark, falling, while we frantically try to catch it and turn it into something. Pounds and pounds of luscious fruit too high for us to hope to reach. Even on ladders that are on top of picnic tables while someone in the tree pushes a branch down.
This tree of ours has already made at least ten children feel faint with cherries on multiple occasions. It has fed neighbors, friends, and children who know better than to eat even one more cherry but just can’t stop. It is a little microcosm, a little picture in juice of what God does for us every day. We can get in this tree of blessing and pick and pick and pick and eat and eat and eat and never exhaust the supply. Sometimes the blessings and the fruit and the wildness of it all can make us think that cherries aren’t what we wanted after all. They are gross to step on barefoot. They need to be picked, and jammed, and ice creamed, and cobblered.
God’s blessings don’t come to us in tidy baskets. They don’t fall to the ground pitted and frozen. They splatter juice on our patio tables, and stain faces and fingers. God’s blessings come in their own season, and sometimes they come so fast and so full that they make you feel a little woozy for a minute. But only for a minute, and then you’ll be out picking some more.