Sunday, June 23, 2024

Dear God,

Once again I found myself in the dirt at Spiller Farm.  The shiny red, luscious-looking strawberries begged to be picked.  A few years ago, there was only soil on this large patch of ground.  Yet, with a few plants, rain and sunshine, they began to root, grow and produce berries for pies, cereal and jam.  I couldn't help but express gratitude over and over again to you for farmers and workers and seeds.

I am a home canner.  I drive to our local farm, walk to the strawberry patch, the row of heritage tomatoes, the raspberry vines, the beets, corn and carrots.  I pick.  I clean. I cut.  I cook.  I put in jars. I boil.  I let cool.  I place them on my shelves and later give most of them away.   And through the whole process, I whisper prayers of thanksgiving.

All praise

to you,

Loving God,

for the gift

of your grace.

All is yours.

How grateful

I am

for all

you provide.

Love, Andrea