A Bowl Full of Cherries

One of the privileges I had this past summer was to come along side Gyöngyvér, a Hungarian psychologist, who was preparing to give a lecture in English at a conference in Vienna. A search for a native English speaker who could help her brush up on her English and make sure her lecture was grammatically correct ended up being me.

We met in her flat or at a coffee shop twice a week for four weeks editing her lecture document and working through the correct pronunciation of English words. She wanted to pay me for my services, but I kindly told her that I did not expect pay. I considered it a gift to be able to meet with her, getting to know her, and sharing our native language with each other.

Often times we caught the attention of other coffee patrons as we watched intently at how the other would form syllables or letters with proper lip formation or tongue placement.  I'm sure it looked like we were doing charades. We would lean in with our faces about a foot away from each other repeating back and forth the proper sound. It wouldn't be long until we would lose all composure, laughing at ourselves at how silly we must have looked and sounded.

It was after our second meeting that Gyöngyvér said she had something for me. She handed me a small gift bag filled with cherries. I have never been one to eat cherries, but I thanked her for her kindness.

I didn't give it much thought until I got home, washed the cherries, and poured them into a red bowl. And then it hit me. Life is like a bowl full of cherries. I smiled at the thought. I popped one into my mouth, squishing out the seed, surprised by the sweet and refreshing taste. Why had I not liked cherries before?

Dennis was gone for several weeks at the time. I ate the whole bowl of cherries in a matter of days. Every time I popped one into my mouth it was a reminder of God's goodness and grace even when life isn't always like a bowl full of cherries. Gyöngyvér's gift was indeed a grace-filled gift of summer 2011.