As I biked this morning, I passed children in uniform, backpacks slung over their shoulders as they headed back to their first full day of classes. Haze dimmed the mountains and turned the late summer sun red. Blackberries fallen from canes stained the sidewalk. It’s a season of letting go of what has been—beach days and barbecues—and stepping into a season of new routines, new learning, a new way of being in the world.

As I ponder and pray, I wonder: What do I most need to remember as we step into this new season?

Vancouver

A memory comes to mind from my first week in Vancouver, sixteen years ago. I was settling into a new apartment with a new housemate, preparing to begin classes at Regent college, not sure how I’d manage with my chronic illness-sapped energy.

I walked down Heather Street and discovered, in a narrow, wooded area, blackberry canes loaded with sweet, ripe berries and with memories. I’d spent early autumn days of childhood picking blackberries from thorny canes with grandparents and turning the kitchen sweet with our production of “black gold”: blackberry-apple jelly. I hadn’t expected to find berries on a walk in a Vancouver neighborhood. As I noticed the berries, I could almost see God’s smile: “See? I’m here too.”

I took and ate what He offered, tasting, along with the sweetness of the berries, the kindness and care of my Father. He saw me. He knew my mix of anticipation and fear, my unanswered questions about how I’d manage. He didn’t give answers. He gave a tangible, sweet reminder of his care, inviting me to take and eat and rest in his gracious love. I took. I ate. I tasted again that the Lord is good.

Dartmouth

This summer, on my final day home with family, I again encountered blackberry canes. I’d seen them on previous walks, but either the berries weren’t ripe yet, others had been picking them, or the sun was in my eyes, and I seldom found more than a few. But on that final day—a day that promised to be full with laundry and packing and helping Mom sort out her laptop—as I climbed the steep hill where the canes grew, I paused, reaching for the first few berries that I saw. There were more, many more.

I hesitated. Should I take the time to pick and eat on this busy day? But the berries held the echo of God’s tender care and provision—sweet reassurance I felt I was being invited to receive, both for myself and for those I love. So I kept picking. And seeing more. And picking. Until my cupped hand was overflowing. I had no way to hold more of God’s grace, no way to carry it home except in my hand. (I didn’t think blackberries in the pockets of cream shorts were a good idea!)

And then, from across the road, a young woman came, extending an opened sandwich bag. “Here’s something to keep them in,” she smiled.

It was a simple act with an impact that lasted much longer than the next hour as Mom and Dad and I savored the berries on our cereal. More than a week later, I’m continuing to think about how a stranger’s simple act of kindness not only deepened the echo of God’s care and provision and allowed me to share his grace with others, but added a layer of meaning: Sometimes God’s care comes straight off the blackberry canes, and sometimes we need others to help us receive and carry it. Sometimes we’re the ones invited to walk those extra few steps across the road with a Ziploc bag and a smile to enable someone else to carry and share God’s grace.

An Autumn Prayer

Tender, generous God, you are here too,

in this place, this new season.

Open our eyes to see the goodness you offer.

Even on the busy days, help us to slow enough to see, and take, and eat of your grace.

Give us the humility and courage to receive from others the opened Ziploc bag,

And to step across the road and offer to others what they, too, need to carry and share your grace.

____________________

Photo by Eric Prouzet on Unsplash