Wisdom Shared by a Different Kind of Warrior

How Little It Takes 

She’s been down but not out 

laid up and kept in 

hampered and hindered 

hobbled and housebound 

immobilized 

but not

demoralized.

Her spirits have been lifted 

by little things

cards and casseroles

books and magazines

phone calls and visits

flowers and bulletins

prayers and Carolers.

Now that she’s up and about

limping along as it were

she shares two insights gained

during days and nights

with little else to do

but recline and wait

while bones took their time knitting. 

How little it takes

to upset the applecart

of daily routine and weekly rounds.

and

How little it takes

to brighten a day and lift a spirit

with some simple kindness offered in love.

Since it takes so little

to share so much

her words become

a charge and a challenge:

remember

how little it takes

and take it often.

You say, "Tomato; I say, "Thank God!"

Pictured above is a tray of tomatoes of varying sizes and varieties. Some of them are green, some of them are in varying stages of turning red. All of them were harvested from our raised bed garden on the other side of the driveway, or a whiskey barrel that sits in a sunny spot just off our deck. They would still be on the vine ripening were it not for several nights when the weathercasters warned of frost.

The sight of the tray full of ripening tomatoes reminds me of something that happened a few years ago when we still lived in the Church Manse in West Pittston. One night we enjoyed several slices of tomato with our dinner. That particular tomato was one of the seven tomatoes which our garden yielded that summer. Now, seven tomatoes after a whole summer may sound to you like a pitiful harvest. To me, they were nothing short of miraculous. What you need to know is that we did not plant a single tomato plant in the tiny garden behind the shed. We never got around to it.

In August, while looking out the dining room window one day, I spotted a tiny shoot among the weeds. It was in the area where three tomato plants had blossomed and flourished the year before. Into Septem-ber the vine grew with a vengeance. Blossoms appeared and gave way to fruit that grew larger day by day as October arrived. When the forecasters said a killing frost was on the way, I went out and harvest-ed our amazing, unplanted crop, picking the largest seven, and leaving at least twice that many too little to bother with. For almost three weeks those green tomatoes collected dust on the kitchen counter, until one day I noticed a pinkish hue. Day by day the color deepened until the first one turned a deep red. That night, our unplanted, providential blessing added its flavor to our evening meal. Reflecting on the plant which had grown and borne fruit without any contribution from us, I realized it was a reminder of all we receive from God’s hand without lifting a finger of our own. Such thoughts lead only to awe and wonder and thanksgiving.