From Farm to City

I quickly checked the monitor to see when the next bus would be coming.  The cashier handed me my receipt.  I stuffed it into my backpack and zipped it up.  Grabbing my other canvas bag, I headed out of the co-op with two minutes to walk to my bus stop.

Yet just an hour earlier, walking into the produce section, I breathed deeply.  If there was one thing I missed from not living in this city this summer, it was the food.  Food in this store, food in San Franciscan restaurants, food at the farmer's market.  I missed the fresh ingredients and the variety.

"Excuse me, is this mild wilting of the pear stem okay?"

"Normally, no," said the produce person. "But I know these pears.  And we've been getting them in with a little tiny puckering around the stem--and they are delicious.  So, yes."

When employees know their produce so intimately, it speaks volumes about the store.  

I couldn't help but see the connection: when a god knows someone so intimately, it speaks volumes about that god.  The god who knows me better than myself is Christ Jesus.

The summer was spent in his arms as I grieved from the belly of my soul so many different things.  He wasn't in my mind; he was in my heart.  His expanse filled the skies and all around me.  And I dwelt in him.

I was held on those walks. 

O Lord, you have searched me
and you know me.

You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.

You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all of my ways.

You have hemmed me in--behind and before;
   such knowledge is too wonderful
for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

Before heading out of the produce section and onto the beloved alternative bread shelves, I excused myself and reached for what looked like Meyer lemons.

"Oh they aren't Meyers--they're the first batch of satsumas."  I let out a surprise since the skins were a beautiful soft, thin yellow reminding me of the sweethearts of lemons.

"How are they?"

"They're still early--if you eat it, you won't think they're bad; but they get better into the season." 

For you created my inmost being
you knit me together in my mother's womb.



Scanning the other shelves nearby to see what else could be new, I noticed some persimmons.  The next thing I knew, I was clapping my hands and similar conversations with the produce person ensued.

I praise you because I am fearfully and
wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

I soon left the produce area armed with the nutrition I craved, and after a few moments, I felt an opening in my heart.  Joy flooded in from the well-spring of life within.  It was so flowing and overflowing that I was almost moved to phone everyone I knew simply to say, "I love you."

With a minute to spare before catching the bus, I appreciated the urban landscape that had somehow become my new home.  Familiar and new.  Here but not yet.  Sitting sideways, I watched as the cityscape rolled by, listening to a jovial conversation between two strangers offering social commentary on what they saw.