It was a feast for the eyes and the taste buds, too. I just couldn’t hurry past without pausing for a second glance. Bins of luscious fruits – peaches, apples, bananas, pears, and many more… and not an unripe piece in the bunch. The peaches blushed, the apples shone, the grapes fairly burst their skins, and even the closest inspection couldn’t turn up one bruise or scab or worm hole. This was fruit-lover’s heaven!
If looks were edible, that is. For this was Michael’s, the arts and crafts store, and these bins were piled high with inviting imitation. While there was nothing here that could wither or rot, there was also no scent, no sweetness, and no nourishment, not one drop.
Give me a succulent peach fresh-picked from a North East orchard, fuzzy and aromatic and yielding slightly to the pressure of my finger. Or give me one of their McIntosh apples (what is it about North East and fruit?), with a smell that says autumn and a flavor that can only be improved by a bit of caramel dip…
Give me something real, that delights the taste buds and satisfies the stomach. Hold off on the hollow stuff, the plastic stuff, the look-but-don’t-sample substitutes. I don’t want those imposters rolling around on my plate – and I don’t want to serve them to others, either.
Dr. Aderholt challenged us Sunday to be real with people. To stop offering plastic smiles (shark-smiles, I think he would have called them) and quick fixes and surface attraction, and to become Christians of substance, filled with the juice of humble servanthood and the sweetness of compassion and the freshness of joy and the firmness of perseverance.
The Michael’s variety… the North East variety… if you were an unbeliever, which peach would you reach for?
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