As a child, I used to love to watch my grandmother prepare the vegetables from her garden for her Sunday meal. She gathered in everything that was ready to be harvested, whether they be perfect or bruised. All vegetables were washed, even the ones that I thought to be questionable. If it had been me, I would have set some of the less-than-perfect harvest aside or tossed them back into the garden. But it was not me, it was Grandmommy Lazenby and she knew better. Each squash, each bean, each tomato had some value. With her paring knife, she would carve away bruises until all became elements of a delicious country feast.
In a way, I looked at these bruised vegetables much like I remembered team-choosing on an elementary school playground. The less-than-perfect children waited in hope yet were reluctantly chosen last. My little-girl attitude was to choose only the perfect vegetables and leave the others behind. Grandmommy’s attitude was that of finding a delicious worth in all of them, bruised or not.
This morning, as I cut around a couple of bruises in the banana for my breakfast cereal, I smiled and gave thanks for those times of watching my grandmother’s hands and the worth that she found in all things and, more importantly, in all people. You see, when I buy a few apples or bananas or squash, I will now pick up one that has a bruise on it. It’s easy enough to find a delicious worth, as Grandmommy did, in less-than-perfect vegetables or fruit … just as it is easy enough to find a beautiful worth in someone who is bruised by life, who has been made to feel less-than-perfect and who is usually chosen last, for whatever reason.
Blessed are the bruised-by-life and the less-than-perfect … for the last shall be first!
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