The peaches tasted like candy, and that was the best part of my day.
It’s ten o’clock at night. My intention of spending an hour or two at my desk writing went out the window as soon as I scooped Harry up this morning. Burning hot, he was never more than a few inches from my arms. I definitely feel the drain of nursing fevers for two days in a row. I took out some of my frustration on the weeds which threaten to topple over our fence. Frustration at sickness. At fights. At more dirty dishes than I thought were possible even for a family of eight. How many cups does one need in one day, anyway? Frustrated at the fortieth millioneth towel on the floor. I seriously just washed, dried, folded AND put away every single one of them three days ago. And not everyone even showered! How is that mathematically possible?
During Harry’s nap time I took a little drive to pick up a grill for Matthew’s father’s day present. Ironically, I drove right past the place where I met Matthew for the very first time. He was only fifteen. The following summer was when I truly noticed him and fell in love forever. This literal drive down memory lane soothed my ruffled feelings from the day.
When I got home, Harry was awake and still fevered. He had a cooling bath and more frozen blueberries. He kept drinking and peeing, so I knew he was going to be okay. As the afternoon wore on, he perked up a little bit. This is when I started to pull weeds. I paused from weeding to start the hamburgers and light the new-to-us grill. Not long after that is when Harry started to melt down from exhaustion. After another cool bath and some snuggles, he went straight to bed. I got back to the hamburgers and chicken grilling and had plates all made when the boys got home from riding bikes with their friends all afternoon. It was obvious their friends were staying. I had made exactly enough for all of us and lunch for tomorrow. So I was feeling a bit stingy. Nadine, in her generous and gracious spirit asked if she could make a plate of food for them. “I can cut them some peaches, Mom!” We had both had a taste of their delectable goodness. There was a part of my heart which rebelled at sharing them. There is a deep-rooted scarcity mindset which God is gently pulling out of my heart. I think it’s gone, but then it pops up again. The thought of, “this is my last peach,” or, “this is the last piece of chicken,” causes me to hoard and save it until sometimes it’s too late and rots in the fridge. My children and husband are so kind to remind me to enjoy things now. Share. Give. Enjoy.
She cut the peach into small slices and spread them beautifully onto a plate. She set it in front of the boys and they looked at the slices. “Is that an apple?” We told them it was a peach. “A peach!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I’ve never had a peach before!” And I could have wept. All this fuss in my heart and mind almost stole away a beautiful moment. A gift. The gift of watching someone, ten years old, enjoy the taste of their first peach.