Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing, Baby

I have a strong aversion to store bought strawberries.

Sure, come February when you are struggling with the gray skies and cold days, it is easy to be tempted by the bright red fruit on the store shelf.  It is "pleasing to the eye" (but remember where that got us).  The pale form and lack of taste are a pathetic excuse for what a strawberry is meant to be.

It reminds me of that kindergarten romance: I was betrothed to another with whom I shared a birthday (and it was even planned that all of our children would be born on that day).  A marriage based solely on coincidental births.

A few weeks later trucks cross the country with their loads of gargantuan fruits with hollow cores.  These usually have a slighty more normal color and may even bear a faint aroma, but strawberries aren't meant to be available at the first of April and they always disappoint.

"Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires."

Similarly, there are the romances that come and go through the teenage years, some better than others, all part of the learning curve of life and love.

May is wonderful month: temperatures warm, we celebrate motherhood, and the appointed time for strawberries to ripen.  These are the berries worth eating, the ones you can smell as you walk in the door, the fruits eaten within seconds of being picked in the sun-warmed fields.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven."

"...The day of his wedding, the day his heart rejoiced."

Likewise we have tasted the fruits of love and marriage, the sweet blessings that come from waiting until the appointed season.  Happy 12th anniversary, my love - you were definitely worth the wait!