We went blueberry picking today. My niece and two nephews stood beside the nine of us adults and ate from the bush or the basket. Their contentment meant our peace, so we didn’t mind.
Hundreds of blueberry bushes were calling for our hands. But only twenty bushes were selected. “I’m almost done with my basket!” I cheered. “That means you’re getting red ones.” My youngest sister responded. I looked in my basket and was pleased to she was mistaken. I had hand picked only the best. The ones that I knew would be juicy and ripe. Perfect for my mouth.
Some bushes were over flowing and others were lacking. As we picked I noticed that we selected only the good blue ones to put in our baskets. In the end, only the good and ripe ones were all together. They were from different bushes but they were all selected for the same reasons: big, blue, ripe.
Somehow this translates to our life. Bare with me as I process this. Our families are the bushes. We are the blueberries. We all get ripe at different times. Some of us are ready together and others take a while longer. We don’t all get picked at the same time either. Somehow, depending on our ripeness, we all end up in the basket with the same like minded people. Some of our family members find their group faster than the rest of us.
I am almost ripe. I think I’m just about ready to be picked. I’ve found my niche in writing and realize there are many in my age group with the same ideas and desires (Maybe we’ll be picked together!).
Writing is no different.
We wait, we choose what we want to read, what we want to write and then voila. Soon our buckets will be full and we’ll be filled to the brim. But, it took a while for us to get ripe. But we will get ripe. Don’t worry. Our time will come.
Thanks Blueberries. 🙂