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.
