It was only 51 degrees when Robert’s pickup came rattling up to the gate this morning. The sky looked tired and gray, and the cornfields were nearly bare, just rows of stubble stretching toward the horizon. Mini jumped into the pickup with her little wiggle of excitement, as if she hadn’t done it a hundred times before. She nosed around on the seat until she found her place beside me, sitting so straight you’d think she was heading to Mass on her own.
Inside St. Mary’s, the air was cool and still, and I could smell the faint scent of candle wax. Father LeRoy read the Gospel about the fig tree that bore no fruit, and I tried to picture it standing lonely in an orchard, waiting for another chance. He said that Jesus told this parable to remind us that God is patient — always giving us another year, another season to grow good fruit in our lives.
Father said that sometimes we feel barren like that fig tree, with nothing to show, but God never gives up on us. He tends our hearts the way a gardener tends his soil — turning it over, fertilizing it with grace, and waiting patiently for something to bloom. He said that even when our hearts are slow to bear fruit, God’s mercy keeps us standing.
When we came out of Church, the wind carried the smell of damp earth. Robert said it wouldn’t be long before the first frost, and Sister Mary Claire agreed, pulling her coat tighter. Mini trotted ahead of us, chasing the leaves that skittered across the gravel road like little brown birds.
Evening Prayer:
Dear Jesus, thank You for being patient with me.
Help me to bear good fruit and to grow in kindness and love.
Let my heart be soft soil for Your grace.
Amen.
Love, Kathy
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