God has no body but yours
No hands, no feet on earth but yours
Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good
Yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet
Yours are the eyes, you are his body
God has no body now but yours
No hands, no feet on earth but yours
Yours are the eyes with which he looks compassion on this world
God has no body now on earth but yours
~ St. Teresa of Avila (1515–1582)
Storms were rolling in, but that didn’t stop me from strolling through my tiny orchard. I planted a fruit tree for each grandparent in 2009. The grandfathers are peaches. The grandmothers, apples. The peach trees grew quickly though their fruit was never healthy. This year, their leaves look fantastic (a first) but they bare no fruit at all. The apple trees appear extraordinarily healthy. The deep winter was just what the doctor ordered. Only one apple tree, the Jonathan, has ever bore fruit, but they were small and frail, never hanging long enough to ripen. This year it has a single apple, but again I saw no fruit on the crabapple tree. That was until I turned back toward the house. There it was. A near perfect apple as soft, round, and delicate as the grandmother it represents. If that’s the only little apple the tree ever produces that will be okay with me. It’s a blessing no matter what.
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