As I bit into the crisp apple, some long forgotten memories flooded back to me.
I wasn’t very old when my family stopped at a roadside fruit stand somewhere in the interior of British Columbia. The stand smelled of wood shavings from the floor, and sweet ripe fruit.
The vendor was an older grey haired gentleman, dressed in an old pair of coveralls and some sort of a cap. To me he seemed at least as old as God.
He had bushel baskets full of fruit for sale. I remember apples, cherries and
watermelons. To my little eyes, the baskets looked huge, I don’t think I had
ever seen that much fruit in one place before. There were jars of honey that looked like liquid gold with the sun shining through them.
He carried strange and wonderfully exotic birdhouses. Whirl-a-gigs of every color and size twirled in the breeze. The flower beds around the fruit stand were filled with a riot of colors. A steady stream of bees hummed about the flowers.
There was a freezer full of ice cream for cones and a display of rock candy on sticks (we called them barley toys) and striped hard candy sticks.
I’m sure we bought something, but I have no remembrance of what. I remember the old
man, the smell of the stand and the size of the bushel baskets most clearly.
Remembering the bushel baskets brought to mind an old story I once heard. I
am sure it is just a fable, but there‘s a lot of truth in it nonetheless.
A Christian farmer and his hired hand had been picking fruit all day. They took
a break and sat down by a creek that ran through the orchard and they talked
about their faith.
“I don’t need to read my Bible,” said the hired hand. “I’ve heard enough of it
to know about how it goes, and that’s good enough. Besides it gets boring to
read the same stories over and over again.”
The old man smiled and tossed him a dirty bushel basket. “Fill this up from the
Thinking it was a strange request; the young man still did as he was told. Every
time he filled the basket and lifted it out of the creek, it drained out. After
a few tries, he gave up.
“So, what’s different about the basket?” asked the farmer, “other than being
“Well, it’s cleaner I guess.”
“Just like reading your Bible everyday,” said the farmer, “you may not notice it
at the time, or even think you are learning anything new, but the more time you
spend with God’s Word the cleaner you become, and the closer you get to Him.”
When was the last time you took some time and spent it savoring God’s Word?
How sweet are your words to my taste sweeter than honey to my mouth! I gain
understanding from your precepts; therefore I hate every wrong path. Psalm
Until next time, may you enjoy time with the Word.