Miracle Apples

My annual pilgrimage to Leamington for apple-picking was delayed this year. Typically I find myself at Thiessen's too early in the season and my favorite apple, Mutsu, is not ready to be picked so I try to wait til later before making the 45 minute drive. I guess I waited almost too long this time.

I was advised by a good friend that when she went earlier this week, the trees were bare except for several varieties that I (and apparently the general public at large) are not fond of. She said the only options were to pick apples up off the ground (yuk) or from the barrels (where's the fun in that?). Duly warned, I decided to make the drive out there in hopes that it wasn't as bad as she had reported.

It was. After the wagon ride past a whole row of fruit-laden golden delicious apple trees I was optimistic that somewhere there would be a pocket of unpicked Mutsu apples just waiting to be found. When my two children & I trekked into the Mutsu isle we were speechless. Not only were the trees completely bare of fruit but there weren't even piles of apples laying on the ground around them. It was as if professional pickers had gone through and taken everything.

Somewhat disheartened, we decided to go down one isle right to the very end. I looked one way and Paris looked the other. Mutsu apples are green and the trees were very leafy so we scanned carefully in hopes of distinguishing the orbs of the apples from the foliage. Nothing. I was shocked. How could every apple be gone? At the end of the row we discussed our options.

Paris suggested that we pray that God would help us find some Mutsu apples and try another isle. I had been thinking the same thing but had hesitated suggesting it because it was our fault for being so late to arrive and what did we expect God to do, miraculously grow us some apples?

Thrilled that my daughter has adopted our faith in God's mercy and provision and that she initiated prayer as a response to a problem, we joined hands and both took turns asking the Lord out loud to help us find any apples that were hidden so that we could fill at least one bag and go home with something. We then returned to our careful searching of every tree.

I shouldn't have been surprised when we suddenly came across solitary apples hidden behind leaves or branches. Only a few of them were up high enough to require Paris to get on my shoulders to get them. Most were within easy reach for both of us. We hadn't seen one until after our prayer!

"I found one!" was a call of delight that would stop us both from our search so we could admire and inspect the fruit. As our two bags filled up slowing over the next hour, we chatted excitedly about how generous God was to us and we literally thanked Him after every discovery. Trysten wasn't as interested in our project but even he joined in near the end and found three all by himself.

There weren't any people picking in our rows for obvious reasons but occasionally pickers would happen by us staring incredulously at the bulging bags we were carrying.

"Where did you get those?" they would ask every time.

"From these trees," we would answer with a smile and a quick glance at each other.

At one point we heard a child say, "Grandma, there's no apples on these trees!" It was true but you wouldn't know it from the bags we were carrying.

Finally, we decided we had looked enough and we were getting chilled. Trysten had already bailed on us, taken the wagon ride back to the main area so he could play in their playground. Paris & I decided to walk back to the weigh station and shared an apple on the way. It was crisp, juicy and tasted like the best apple we had ever eaten. Gifts from God are always perfect.

My arms burned from the weight of the apple bags on the way back but it was a good pain. We had come to an empty orchard and we were going home with plenty. Our cheeks were rosy and Paris was enjoying herself as much as I was.

"Mom, it's like expecting to find a treasure only to find out that it's gone but finding a trail of jewels one by one."

I felt the same way.