A watermelon sits on my counter. Green. Firm. Perfect.
Because I live on a small patch of ground on an unfertile hill where even a tomato would struggle to grow, I’ll take what I can get. I have to trust my market for ripe fruit. I try hard not to take California’s abundant produce for granted. I really try. But when the displays literally overflow with melons, berries and squash all times of the year, it is difficult.
So my ripe watermelon, from Trader Joe’s, summer’s best, is waiting to be cut.
I know it’s ripe because it sounds hollow and I ‘ve already consumed its sister. Red and icy inside, cut, the juice pools in the dish. Only fit to be eaten in the yard or over the sink, the watermelon won’t last another 48 hours. Not with my two little melon-munchers craving it. It is full, heavy and beautiful. It is asking me to cut into it.
And oh, this life seems to be begging me to cut into it too.
It is full and heavy and good to eat. It is asking me to get up early in the morning and run, to make my body strong. Life is begging me to laugh and cry or be quiet and not be ashamed. It is asking me to kiss my husband longer, to hug my daughters tighter and raise my face to worship.
Life
is
ripe.
And perfect and abundant. Love spills and pools when I let it. Kindness collects and runs down my chin when I forget myself. Sometimes life is so messy and big it has to happen out of doors where the mess doesn’t matter.
Devour, don’t taste.
Dive, don’t dip.
Drink deeply and let love spill.
Life is ripe and is begging me to eat. Begging you to eat.
I happened upon your post and was inspired with a number of thoughts. First, I thought of the time some years ago when I gardened, and when a season’s labor produced only one watermelon, which two 10-year old hooligans carried off to their hideout in the soybeans. I gave chase and rescued the watermelon, but somehow my ownership of the fruit was less sweet having had to claim it again. There is a balance between having and keeping, and consuming and enjoying. Life begs us to cut into the watermelons it gives us, but I think there is something inside us that wants us to hold on to the fullness of the fruit, the ripeness, the perfection of the moment. Even as we slice it open and eat it up, there is a kind of loss. Perhaps this tension rises from a sense that life’s abundance is fleeting.
1) i came over here twice to make sure you were ok from the earthquake. as if you’d post something here. duh.
2) i LUHUHUHUHUVVVVV watermelons. especially sprinkled with a pinch of salt (try it!) hey, did you know it’s just been discovered that the watermelon rind has the same medicinal effects as v.i.a.g.r.a… i’m just saying.
3) my scripture reading today was out of psalm 42. and my entire week has been about Isaiah and Exodus and manna and the idols and that God is the only bread that can satisfy…
i was going to save my earthquake post for tomorrow. =)
not a fan of salty watermelon, sorry mandy.
very inspiring….
I came to your post from Bethanne, Waiting for the Shout. What an awesome comparison. You have a wonderful way with words and I’m sure i am not the first to tell you that! Great post!
oh man, two days in a row i am in tears with your posts. so beautiful, so motivating and inspiring. i loved your words today friend.
I totally agree.
I think the trick is to let the watermelon be what it is, to let each moment be magical in and of itself without spending tomorrow trying to reproduce ‘that lovin’ feelin.’
We saw a pile ‘o’ seedless melons at Trader Joe’s the day after our beach day with you guys and thought of you. And BTW, being from Canada, every morsel of fruit you served up was like nectar from the gods.
Not that I’m a polytheist. Oh boy. I better stop!
Oh Sarah, to be in your mind for an hour. Your words never cease to amaze me.
I lu-huv how you take me with you.
Beautiful. I read it twice. I want to print this and put it on my fridge.
Perfect.
i too love watermelon- with salt.
beautiful post sarah.
i know a certain “watermelon” that is begging to be cut into!
thanks for the link
Words so perfect, I could almost taste them.