Surprised by pears

While squeezing in a grocery trip before school pickup to grab two small things I had forgotten to put on the list for the grocery trip I had made earlier that same day (can I get a witness?), I rounded the corner of the produce aisle with self-checkout in sight. 

I blazed past the tomatoes, zigged around the avocados, zagged by the lemons—

then screeched to a halt in front of the most gorgeous pears you have ever seen. 

I tried to move right on past them to the oranges, apples, then on to the rest of my day. I really did! But I tell you these pears (Pears of all things!) had me frozen to the spot.

I ran my fingers over the beautiful varied hues of crimson, rust, cinnamon, and speckled green. I turned one over in my hands, feeling the pear’s distinctive curves and delicate skin. I brought it up to my nose, closed my eyes to the neon sale signs and buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, and slowly breathed in its bright, sweet scent. 

“Alleluia,” I whispered. 

Beauty has a way of returning us to a pace of grace. 

I opened my eyes, scooped five of the most exceptionally beautiful pears into my arms (Of course I hadn’t grabbed a cart. That would have been a waste of precious seconds when I had only dashed in for two small items, after all.), held them to my chest, and shuffled along gingerly, taking care not to drop one. 

When we arrived home after school, I arranged the pears in a favorite cream-colored bowl, placed them on a copper tray, and carried it to the dining room. Little heads popped up from books, drawings, and math worksheets, now ooh-ing and aah-ing over the new addition to our table. I told the kids that they could add little treasures—fall leaves and pinecones and acorns—to the copper tray once the leaves started to change. 

“Today?!” Henry shouted, poised to jump out of his chair and barrel toward the front yard. 

“No, probably not today,” I replied. “It’s a little too early yet for the leaves to turn. I haven’t noticed any on our street.”

“Okay, Mom,” Henry said, with a look and tone that let me know he was humoring me. “We’ll just see.”

Soon, the kids bounded outside and I set to chopping the zucchini for dinner. A few minutes later, I heard the front door open and Henry calling out, “I found treasure! I found treasure! It’s beautiful! Come see!”

Cupped in his little boy hands were three yellow leaves. Jane Joy, ever his faithful adventure sidekick, helped him arrange them in the copper tray, then grabbed his hand and said, “Let’s go look for more!” as she pulled him toward the door. 

Before we sat down to dinner they had brought in five more handfuls of colorful leaves, trumpeting the arrival of each beautiful one with childlike delight. 

Later that night during bedtime prayers, Henry thanked God for his leaf treasures, and bounced down the stairs first thing the next morning to check on them.

“I’m sure glad I was looking for something beautiful, Mom! I just knew I’d find it.”

Lord, open my eyes to what treasures you have hidden in plain sight, the declarations of your glory that fill every ordinary crack and crevice of the world you have made. 

Give me a way of seeing that is not surprised to find a burning bush in a grocery aisle or in the first yellow leaves of autumn.

A heart of childlike trust in your cosmos-permeating goodness that says, “I just knew I’d find it.”