The sermon on the blueberry bush

The blueberry bushes themselves are a gift unsought. Fed up with the ugly, ill-plumbed, noisy house I was living in, I mentioned to my dance partner that I was looking for another place. He had moved out of his house and had been urged to rent it out, but didn't want to let a stranger move in. We struck a deal. The house is charming. I love it. And it came with the unexpected bonus of a row of lush blueberry bushes.

Right now those bushes are nearing peak production. I don't just love the blueberries; I love gathering them. I love going out in the morning, the grass cool and dewy under my bare feet as I reach under the bird netting and gather my breakfast. I love watching the progress of the fruit, as tiny green beads grow larger and paler before progressing through pink and red and purple to a rich dark blue.

Picking blueberries is receiving a treat straight from the very hand of the God who made those bushes. Gathering them is an act of worship. And I praise God that He gave me eyes to see this and a heart to appreciate it.

As I walk back to the house with my harvest, I pass my tiny garden and marvel at the peppers, which are starting to dwarf the plants they grow on. I think of the way the sunlight nourishes the plants, how the roots draw up water and minerals from the soil, and how all that works together to produce crisp, sharp, yellow peppers for my table. My mind goes to cooking -- to how God allows us to be partners with Him, transforming the raw materials he gives us into culinary delights.

I pray for everyone to find around them the miracles we take so for granted because they are so common place. Dirt plus sun produces both the soft sweetness of the blueberries and the biting crunch of the peppers. Human creativity -- a pale shadow of our Creator's creativity -- turns those berries and peppers into deserts and dinners.

God works hand in hand with us at every turn. What a blessing it is to be able to praise Him for it!