This peach is my "hello".
Every day this little sucker bonked me in the head. And I smiled. Forgot to duck. Waited for this first legitimate, full-size, amazing fruit from our tree!
But it was damaged.
I was so shocked when I realized, I refused to pick it. Just let it hang, looking beautiful. Hitting me in the head every time I passed. Like a disappointing reminder.
What causes this kind of damage to a peach?
Life.
The answer is "life". It happens.
I feel like this two-sided-perfect-with-a-gaping-hole-peach. I've endured debilitating pain. I can fill in the blank with my story, "_________ hurt me". What about you?
Life.
The answer is "life". It happens.
I feel like this two-sided-perfect-with-a-gaping-hole-peach. I've endured debilitating pain. I can fill in the blank with my story, "_________ hurt me". What about you?
Like this peach, I am wounded. Aching. Lost. Alone. Damaged. But I am also Beautiful. Wanted. Looked forward to. Life-giving. Soft. Belonging. I am both.
Nothing can ever restore this peach. A piece of it is gone. There are simply things that can't heal. I have to accept. Grieve. Wait. They look ugly.
Nothing can ever restore this peach. A piece of it is gone. There are simply things that can't heal. I have to accept. Grieve. Wait. They look ugly.
And I don't want to look ugly. It's hard to go through the ugly part of life.
So what's the solution? For irreparable, miracle-resistant damage...
Release.
Release.
I set this guy in the compost bin. And as much as I hate to say it, maybe letting what's broken transform into something else is a worthy solution. A second chance in a different form. Metaphorically speaking, the vision of what undamaged Me would have accomplished can fade away (because it's actually gone) as I wrap my arms around the future.
Once I overcame my disappointment and actually PICKED the broken peach, I realized there was another hidden just behind.
Undamaged. Waiting. Delicious. Honestly, I'd expected them all to be spoiled.
Perfection.
"Look at the birds... they do not sow, neither do they reap ... and yet your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?" -Jesus
Much of my damage came from a painful reaction to an antibiotic called Levaquin/Cipro. I'm sure the chemist who created this antibiotic never intended it to cause potentially permanent harm to anyone. I'm told, when fluoroquinolone antibiotics were introduced, medical science didn't even have the ability to study mitochondrial DNA. The chemist is like a bird, going about business, not intending to turn me into a nibbled up peach but inadvertently causing damage.
Some pain we experience comes from circumstances beyond our control. Other comes from wrong choices we actually make.
Either way, finding the silver lining after a wound is a slow process. It's been five years, three months and a day since my last blog post but I'm happy to finally be here.
Blessings again,
Kristi
Miracle Haven Garden
Rebel Compost