Saturday, December 10, 2011

Sticky grapes

Each autumn, the cooler breezes and blue skies bring the promise of harvesting grapes.  Wizened branches yield plump fruits on an arbor at the family farmhouse, where Mommy and Grandpa Olen and even my great-grandfather were born. 

One bright Saturday morning, some of the family arrive with snippers and buckets to gather grapes.  And then, on Mommy's porch, we pull the meaty fruits from their stems.  Sticky juice smears my fingers until they look like purple grapes, themselves. 

For days the faux bruising lasts.  The viscid smears remind me of the emotional pain that adheres to my thoughts.  Harsh criticism, personal ridicule, uninvited advice...  Friend, do you have such clinging cobwebs in your heart?  Does your mind sometimes reel painful memories, the ones you desperately want to forget?

Today, while my mother decorated her Christmas tree with Joey and my husband took Ezra on a recycling rampage, I opened the curtains, straightened toys from their usual clutter across the floor, and listened to the latest WOW.  Slowly, I felt peaceful - those sticky thoughts subdued and silent. 

It takes time to heal from painful pasts, friend.  Perhaps today you, too, can feel a surge of hope in the beauty that hugs your life.

1 comment:

  1. OMG! I totally feel your pain! Thanks, honey for your insights! I never would have thought of grape stains on hands in that way. Now, I'll never look at my dirty hands after an oil change or after handling freshly cut pine the same way again!


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