The Blueberry Patch


Tangled. Roots, branches, vines. Entwined.

Bound. Connected to the sacred earth. The land. The dirt.

What is life about? Are we to be alone, set apart, held captive to self?

Today we went to the Blueberry Patch. We went to claim our gallons of fresh berries, to harvest them from the full to bursting plants, to spend time in the outdoors.

What I left with is a feeling of being interwoven with something much deeper.

We went with friends, it was a simple outing.

Food, fun and sun.

My heart was light as we left there. My youngest decided to fall asleep on our way home, so we drove. We do that a lot in our family. Sleep is hard to come by for my three busy children, so when they succumb, you must savor it. If that means driving, you drive.

Anyway, it gave me lots of time to contemplate the state I found myself in. There was joy. Joy at being a part of something.

Being a part of a group collecting berries.

Being a part of a family business, supporting the locals.

But it was bigger. It was about being interwoven.

Interwoven into others lives. Drawn together. Stronger.

I find myself alone a lot. Not from children mind you, but from adults whom I can connect with. It is one of the hardest parts of motherhood. Throw into that equation the homeschooling factor and working from home and many times it can be days between seeing someone I know and most often that involves a clerk at the grocery store who checked me out last time and probably doesn't remember me.

It is hard. It isn't the kind of peace and quiet that I crave, but an inner loneliness that can consume you. And it struck me again, how closely we are to resemble those vines, roots and branches.

God created us to need fellowship. To thrive under the care and strength that can be devised from many pieces.

So often I find myself toppled. I am a strong tree. I have deep roots in my faith, in my hope for an eternity of goodness, but I am that tree out in the middle of a field.

The storms come and there isn't another tree to buffet the storms with, to chat with about the broken branches left after the destruction, to admire how well we've come through.

I often wonder if I am too critical. Do I want too much?

I don't have time for lots of shallow connection. I want deep, soul knowing, heart wrenching bonds. Things that tie me to those around me in a powerful way.

I think this is one of the things that drew me to the country. To me it has always symbolized a place called home. A place where you are known and you know.

The good, the bad and many times the ugly truth. The truths about successes and failures, the truths that we all so often like to hide.

I want to feel the earth. The humble, stripped down version of who I am, what I am without all the fluff. To be seen and still loved for that.

Maybe my hopes and dreams are too grand. Maybe I am meant to be that lone tree out in the field, but I pray for a season to be a part of the forest. To be one of the towering trees that gives shade and shelter to each other, the ones who provide strength and security to the saplings underneath.

Whether or not that is my story, or that my story encompasses more than sheltering my three precious babies, I pray that I am like the Psalmist. Someone who delights in the law of the Lord and lives firmly planted, not withering.

"Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers." Psalm 1:1-3 May we see out interactions in a whole new way. The time we spend a braiding of lives. The gifts we give, an investment in a thread of hope...the string that will keep it all together even when it's the last one holding.

I pray to be a friend to those I meet. To be with them now, in the present, and for some through the years.

I sense this same feeling with others. A desire to go deeper. To plumb the depths. I want you to know you are not alone. We were created to be connected.