March 23 – Fruit

I hate fruit. Most of it, anyway. It’s been a lifelong condition. I try to avoid talking about it at all, because people have a strange reaction to the fact. 

First, incomprehension. Like, how is that even possible? Are you sure? Then they will run through a list of wonderful fruits to test me. Apples? Surely you don’t hate apples. Peaches? Watermelon? How could anyone hate watermelon? This goes on for a bit, and gradually they become angry. Judgy. Like it is a moral offense for me to hate fruit. Clearly, there is something wrong with me.

Yes, clearly there is. But it seems equally strange to me that you would take it so personally.

So, this word is kind of challenging for me. It has all kinds of beautiful, wonderful connotations in faith and life for most of us. But, for me? Not so much. I might rather contemplate the green, leafy vegetables of the Spirit – or even the tubers of the Spirit. But, here’s what I can contribute to this meditation on fruit.

I have peeled and sliced thousands of apples and put them in baggies for school lunches, pureed them into applesauce, or baked them into pies.

I carefully washed bunches of grapes, running my fingers around them to make sure each one was washed clean.

I peeled and sliced bananas every morning for babies in high chairs, turning my face away slightly and breathing through my urge to gag.

I made blueberry muffins and strawberry shortcake to the delight of my kids. I ate none of it. They loved all of it.

The fruit of the Spirit is the evidence of one’s growing in grace, growing in love. And, also, sometimes it’s just evidence of maturity. Suck it up, mama. Your kids deserve fruit.

Look, I’m no saint. This is just one of the things I had to do because I have this weird hatred for fruit and this strange love for my kids. I’ll bet you’d have done the same.

I’ll bet you have your own story of doing something you hated, simply out of love for someone else. It probably doesn’t involve fruit.