Tomatoes and Wrinkles and Beggars, Oh My!

Part I - Tomatoes

Having paid $2.99 per pound for reddish tasteless tomatoes, I decided that this year I would grow my own. Memories of walking to the garden on a hot July day to pick a bright red juicy tomato came to mind. I know I was seven or eight years old because that's when we had a big garden. I would choose the most perfect tomato I could find, rinse it off with the garden hose--not to be sure it was clean, but rather so the salt would stick to the first bite. Then I sprinkled a little salt on it (ok, a lot of salt) and took a bite. It was better than biting into an apple. I then added more salt, took another bite, add more salt, another bite. When the fruit (vegetable? I was never sure) was gone, I'd rinse off my face and hands with the garden hose and quickly move on to the day's next distraction.

In buying those two tiny plants a couple of months ago, I had that picture in mind. Living in the city with a beautiful backyard, I chose as my garden plot a large planter. I filled my garden with enriched potting soil, added water, carefully bedded my two tomato plants and waited. I watered daily and within a very few days, my plants needed support.

It was suggested to me that I go to Ace Hardware and purchase tomato stakes. Are you kidding me?? My mother never purchased tomato stakes. She used what she had at hand--broomsticks, mop handles, whatever. What I have, that she did not, is an abundant supply of bamboo growing in my beautiful backyard. So I harvested some green bamboo as supports for my hearty and growing tomato plants.

Within a few short weeks (much sooner than I anticipated) I began to enjoy the fruits (vegetables?) of my labor. The plants became heavy-laden with tomatoes...much smaller than at first, but plentiful. I walked out one morning to find my tall, beautiful plants had fallen over into the nearby boxwood shrubs. The bamboo supporting my bounty had dried up and broken under the heavy load.

Lesson learned: Your venture may exceed your expectations. Invest in a good support system.

Tomatoes and Wrinkles and Beggars, Oh My!

Part II - Wrinkles

I remember my first wrinkle. I still have it, in fact. It appeared near my right eye. And it had a twin…near my left eye. Then came all the siblings. When you are 25, they are called “laugh lines” and no one is concerned too much about them. However, as the years pass and you realize that they are here to stay and they are increasing in number, depth and intensity, you begin to worry.

This worry, of course, along with fading vision, causes you to knit your brow in great concern as you look more closely in the magnifying mirror. You no longer see anything to laugh about as you examine the “worry lines” that have formed on your forehead and over the bridge of your nose.

What happens when you worry? You frown, of course, causing…you know where this going…frown lines around your mouth.

Now you’re not laughing. You would think, therefore, that the laugh lines would vanish. Not so. Now you are frowning because you are worried about not laughing. And you wish you had not laughed so much early in life. That’s what started all this!

Lesson learned: Forget that you once said, “I’ll never inject poison into my face.” Schedule a Botox party and bring laughter back into your life.

Tomatoes and Wrinkles and Beggars, Oh My!

Part III - Beggars

I was at a stoplight and in the median was a filthy beggar with one leg, a wheelchair and sign that said, “I love Jesus and I am hungry.”

Several years ago, I decided that if I had any cash or change with me (there are times I do not, and I’m not handing out credit cards) I would give something to every beggar I come across. I also determined to contribute something to every Salvation Army bell ringer I pass by during the holidays. I am sure there have been exceptions, but I try to make good on my commitment.

You must understand. I’ve never been accused of being a compassionate person. In general, I figure if I work for my money, you can work for yours. If I manage to provide for myself, so can you.

But beggars are different. They have no hope that tomorrow will be a better day. Perhaps they’ve “had their moments.” I can’t pretend to imagine what their life is like. Blind, crippled, mentally incompetent, hopeless. The latter, perhaps, being the most debilitating of all.

They most likely will waste my dollar on something I would prefer they not. They probably will not tithe to the church or put a part of it away for a rainy day. Chances are that they will not buy nourishing food. That’s their decision. My decision is to share a tiny bit of all that’s been given to me.

Lesson learned: I gave my dollar or two, not because he was hungry or even because he loved Jesus. I gave my dollar because I have hope of having more.