No Sour Grapes

We have a bench outside our home that has served many purposes through the years. The last true role it played was as a rest stop for my father as he walked each day to get stronger, post heart transplant. Every day last September, he would grab his walking stick and his sneakers and build up stamina after this huge life changing procedure. He was so happy and so determined to find his way in this new world. The bench would hold us both as we talked of what was behind us and what was ahead.

I didn't know it then but those walks and talks would become most sacred to me.

He died this past April of complications that none of us could have predicted.

But last fall was precious and holy time. After a workout walk and some bench time, I would make him some lunch.

He was happy with whatever anyone would give him. Never complained, had a smile for every encounter and was thrilled with every lunch, even if all I offered was peanut butter toast. The last lunch I ever made for him was in the middle of September. I remember it in detail. He was feeling a bit dizzy and a bit lousy but still gave me a huge smile as I put down the tuna melt.

But then, he asked " Got any fruit?" I told him I think we had some grapes and I would get them. " No, No, I can do it. I'll get them for you."

He was a little wobbly, and a little unsure, and I was deeply focused on his white sneakers and plaid shirt as he made his way to the refrigerator and back. Grapes for us both and still a huge smile.

The next day he was hospitalized and never came home for lunch again.

The bench stayed empty. The walking stick still rests in the corner of my home and the memory of his feet walking across my kitchen to serve me grapes still plays on a loop in my head and my heart.

I'll never eat grapes again.

Fast forward to pandemic 2020. It's life altering. We don't eat lunch with anyone anymore. The bench is no longer a resting place but a point of exchange. I leave things for others and sometimes others leave things for me. We don't see each other but we connect on that bench as we pass through the haze and the horror of this year. Chicken pie and blueberry pie, hot fudge sauce and new books, flowers, pumpkins and even a Bible have been placed on that bench by people who are coming and going through this time with me. And every time I go to the bench, it is sacred and holy and hard. But it is also healing, as it is still a place of love and serving, of resting and of giving. And I know my dad would love that there was occasionally pie on his bench . But last week, I saw what was on the bench and I too, became wobbly.

On the bench was a unexpected gift of melon, fresh eggs, farm stand jam and yep, grapes.

It was such a joy to be remembered by this person from the church who takes better care of me than I do myself. Often forgetting to stop for a meal in the hard fog of these days, the bounty on the bench all looked mouthwatering.

Aside from my sister, no one knows I no longer eat grapes. The memory too painful and the regrets that I should have and could have done something to save him, leaves a sour taste.

The sweet person who gifted them had no idea of what grapes now meant to me. I put them in a basket on the table. The same table where Dad and I had shared that last lunch and while I scooped the jam with a spoon, I tried to ignore them.

They were the most beautiful grapes I have ever seen. Each one perfect.

I stared them down all afternoon. I cried and sat on the bench and waved his walking stick around as if I could conjure up some comfort.

Would I ever move through this hard time?

In desperate hope, I grabbed a handful, as he would have done. He was not a one bite guy.

I expected to taste only sour but they were sweet. They were wonderful and they were freeing.

I never, ever, would have bought them for myself. And yet, now I was on the bench eating them in handfuls. A year since he served me some grapes and a year since everything went to hell in a handbasket, I was now holding a basket full of fruit, of release and reminder that somehow I was going to be ok now; no longer sour grapes.

There are days and nights since this pandemic began that I wonder if I will ever find my way out of the hard fog of Covid 19. Will we ever be able to feel "normal" again? How could we possibly recover from all that our nation is going through and how will we ever move forward after all that has been lost. Will everything always be sour?

With a mouthful of sweet grapes, I pray and I hope and I believe that yes, we will be able to go forward, together

Psalm 34:18. reminds us that God is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

We won't ever be the same but we will find a way. And there will someday be a time when we can again keep each other company on the benches, we can share a lunch and you and I will be able see the sacred gifts of this hard time even if we have been crushed. God will make a way and will not forsake any of us.

My dad and the giver of the grapes would both remind me, I think, that crushed grapes makes good wine.

It's not all bad," Dad would remind me, as it seemed to be impossible to make sense of what was ahead. "We have had some great times."

And we always have gifts on the bench of this life, revealing themselves at just the right moment.

Holy God, may our vineyards of relationship and memory yield a crop of abundance , may we be open to the gift of sweetness during the sourness of this pandemic and may we always have company on the bench. AMEN