By Betsy Gonwa, 
Nature, unasked, has been meeting my needs for restfulness and quiet. Even on these warm and humid days, I can step into the cool of the woods and find respite. I just need to show up. Encounters with wildflowers delight me and when I find myself face to face with a deer, both of us stop moving. Sometimes for just a moment. Sometimes for longer.
Recently, a black raspberry patch has appeared. Before it was just one of the parts of the trail where I tried to avoid being pricked. But now ripening berries are visible and I can see the width and breadth of the patch. Just yesterday, I harvested some, with a bucket hanging from the belt around my waist, a trick I learned as a kid. What was previously green and blended into the underbrush now stands out and is accessible. The ripened fruit needs little more than to be touched in order to fall into my open palm. If I need to tug at a berry, I know it is not ready.
As I reflect, a verse of scripture comes to mind. “Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed, and nothing is hidden that will not be made known. What I tell you in darkness, speak in the light. What you hear in private, proclaim from the housetops.” At this time in our society, we are seeing the fruit from seeds that have been sown; disparities and injustices are being brought into the light. Prophets in positions of power and from the grassroots are speaking out.
The raspberries beckoned to me to return, to harvest them and to partake. To place them in a bowl and serve at table. To share with my friends. For a moment, I envision the fruit of racism being placed in a bowl in the center of a table. I envision sharing it and digesting it together.
Later this month, I will be participating in a book club discussion for White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo. Another friend of mine told me she is in a multi-state book group discussion focused on this same book. I look forward to educating myself and hearing what others have learned, but more importantly than our minds, I want the learning to be processed in our hearts. If that doesn’t happen, it will be like seeing the fruit without eating it, and we will fail to receive the nourishment intended or to benefit from the growth that could follow.
And the seeds will continue to spread, and more prickery bushes will grow. And more fruit will ripen and fall to the ground. But to what end? The thorns are necessary, for they protect the fruit. I wonder who among us will brave the thorns and harvest the fruit.
What hidden fruit are you failing to harvest? Can you brave the thorns?
