Tomatoes, The First Frost, And The Christian Walk

Image by vinduhl via Flickr

The bite of fall is in the air. It snuck in while we weren’t watching.
Suddenly the leaves in the trees are slightly off-color, the mornings are a little crisper, and the evenings a little darker.

It won’t be long, now.

And then there’s the tomatoes. They hang in bunches in the back yard. Their crop has been full of promise. Thick and rich with round living ornaments, the plants bow deeply, kissing the ground with heaviness.

There is nothing like a smell of a tomato plant, rushing to the end of the season.

But it’s too soon.

The fruit (or is it a vegetable?) isn’t ready. In fact, the pale green produce seems to be a long ways from maturity. Will they beat the coming frost?

I have confidence that I’ll have harvest. I’ll check the forecast to see that the big chill is coming. And I’ll walk outside, expecting green, and instead be surprised by the deep red of fullness.

It’s time.

I’ve been at this Christian walk for years — no, decades. And like these green tomatoes, I droop in immaturity. I’m not ready for Christ to come. I’m not ready to go home. I still need a few more days — or weeks — or years.

While I wait for the day of His appearing to come, I need some maturity. I just want to be ready.
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