Bucket of Blueberries

June 10, 2008

Greetings, Prayer Team!

Two evenings ago, I frantically left the office, ate a hurried supper, changed into a bright turquoise picking dress, snatched up my orange hat with the wide rim (Why not look, as well as feel, festive?), and set out for the blueberry fields.

I took along too many containers on purpose. Maybe this year I’ll be a fast picker.

Arriving over an hour after they opened for the evening, the parking attendant guided me over bumpy gravel and straw, and I got out to retrieve my ten-pound bucket from the cashiers. Patsy and hundreds of others had already picked some of their berries when the place opened last holiday—they picked out the fields in fact, and they closed until more berries ripened.

Back in the car, I followed the owner down a lane past rows full of pickers to one of the farther fields, where more berries would be ripe. They were a smaller variety, but tasted good, and I began milking the bushes into my bucket.

The sun shone hot, but cooled as I picked. I soon saw that this year, too, I would be a slow picker. My fingers, as well as my ears, eyes, and heart, slow to lights and sounds of the fields, and small berries fill the bucket but gradually. What I will do if ever I am the mom with a nursing baby daughter and two young boys who lose themselves in the fields, I know not, but perhaps then I will be a fast picker.

As the sun neared its rest, the berries neared the top of my bucket, each one a tiny treasure of beautiful, tasty good health. Although they are small berries, they are good berries, and worth every moment of labor to obtain them. Indeed, even the owner, at day’s end, spoke with my friends and me, telling us of the blueberry class he recently took. All the experts agreed, he said: The Olympias, one of the smallest varieties, are the most flavorful of all, the most worth picking, the most worth growing.

Which fact reminds Patsy and me of a widow and a mite, as well as the hundreds of small, even tiny gifts that come in for Streams of Light.

“The widow’s mite has been like a tiny stream flowing down through the ages, widening and deepening in its course, and contributing in a thousand directions to the extension of the truth and the relief of the needy. The influence of that small gift has acted and reacted upon thousands of hearts in every age and in every country.” (Signs of the Times, Novermber 15, 1910)

While sometimes benefiting from large donations, the Streams of Light also widen and brighten with each small sacrifice, each evidence of self denial. We could not reach our goal without them.

These thoughts bring us again to a different, sobering note. Our friend Betsy, the administrative assistant for the education department, has spread countless smiles and kindnesses through her cheery ways, adding up to a great river of blessing for those around her. Yesterday, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Now is the time for our prayers and kindnesses to flow, washing over the Skidmore family as a mighty river and inviting the Holy Spirit to engulf them in mercy, comfort, and even healing while they face the evil cancer.

On behalf of Patsy Wagner,

Heidi C. Corder
Assistant, Office of Philanthropy