by Christina Hubbard
The farmer’s market is like the kingdom of God. Here ordinary people grin under tents. “Good morning!” they wave to fellow humans and dogs. Any color with which the rainbow glories our eyes is muted by nature’s bounty in a deluge of color, scent, and sound.
Sweet potatoes in adobe and earth, white onions of sharpness and snow, tomatoes which tantalize with a thin coat of crimson over the most scandalous of juicy red. Green goodness: cucumber and zucchini. Yellow joy: squash and neatly grown kernels of corn, packages of flavor. Blue, red, and black: very berry happiness as far as the eye can see. Brown smooth eggs and weighty watermelons invite us while ribs smoke from a food truck and we drool. Oh, taste and see the Lord’s love for our bellies!
Farmers do not pick perfect. The market is where all are welcome. If you are a second, a gently bruised heirloom bursting with puck or a basket of dark cherries begging to be put to bed in a pie, you are not last, you are first.
If you are that last pan of cinnamon rolls as big as my face and no one will spring for your aluminum, I will take you home and lick your pan clean. If you are tiny cukes desperate to be pickled, a whole box of them, come with me. You shall be jarred! The market is the place of good enough. Even the overripe, the overpicked, and underbought will be made useful in the compost, resurrected next year, more brilliant than before.
All of this began from nothing. To think we can create beauty like good farmers and God. To think He uses us seconds.Tweet This
Have faith, little seed. Your imperfection is ravishing.
Love from a Fellow Creative
There are days I am certain the words I write reek of my imperfections and, so, are unusable. My cry echoes Isaiah*, who said, “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips.” His despair was met with a coal from the altar, an assurance that his guilt was taken away and his sin atoned for. If I listen, my cry is answered with the same hope and love. Not only that, but I, too, am gifted with a precious commissioning saying, “Go,” and as spoken to Habakkuk*, “Write the vision.”
—Emily Conrad, novelist & blogger. Emily Conrad Author.
*Isaiah 6:5 + Habakkuk 2:2 ESV.
By faith, we see the world called into existence by God’s word, what we see created by what we don’t see. Hebrews 11:3 (MSG)