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.

 

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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.