The Fruits of our Labors

Last spring while planting our garden, we were eager and excited about the new things we were going to be able to enjoy since moving to a different climate. The home that we had just moved from did not have ideal soil or drainage for making good tomatoes, but we knew that our new place would be perfect for tomato growing.



We planted, tended, staked, pinched, watered, fed, and patiently awaited being able to taste our first home-grown tomatoes. Every day we would go out to check on the progress of our growing plants, as they budded and bloomed and then began to bear fruit. We eagerly watched as the green globes slowly changed to yellow and then began to take on a rosy hue. We knew that the best flavor would come from patience, and so we allowed days to pass as our tomatoes grew riper.

And then, the day that I had anticipated finally arrived! I was going to pick a few of the truly ripe tomatoes and savor the fullness of their flavor. I went out to the garden with my picking basket and was shocked to discover that someone had preceded me in the tasting of my fruits!

Every single one of my ripest tomatoes was missing their lower halves, and some were completely gone. The sadness, the anger, the utter dismay I felt in seeing that all of my hard work had culminated for the pleasure and delight of a thieving raccoon!

That season we did not get to enjoy a single tomato. We tried various techniques to protect our fruits from hungry animals, but nothing seemed to work. And so, we decided that we would offer our tomato plants as a gift to the local animals, and take what we could from the other areas of our garden. We found that when we changed our ideas from the tomatoes being ours to eat to being a gift to give, we were able to drop our anger and resentment, and turn it into an act of love and offering.

It's funny that when we make something or do a service for someone else, we tend to do a better job and put more effort into it than if it were only for ourselves. Sure, we would have loved to have these things for ourselves, but when we change what we're doing from a selfish act to an act of giving, it makes the whole process more worthwhile.

I can see many lessons from our tomato experience trickling into different areas of our lives, but a definate parallel has sprung up between growing tomatoes and growing children. Often times, the efforts that we put into teaching and training our children have selfish motives. If they clean up their rooms, then I, as their mother, won't have to. But most of what we are instilling in them will have longer effects then in just making my day easier. We teach them not to lie in order that we have a relationship based on truth and trust. We teach them responsibility in order that they fulfill their share in the workload. We teach them empathy in order that they will get along with their siblings. But the true fruit of these efforts will not be seen while our children are still living in our house. The time that they spend with us will only be the staking, tending, watering, feeding, pinching, loving, waiting patiently time. It's all the hard work that goes into growing something worth picking.

As our children ripen, we will not even be able to choose who gets to take part in the fruits of our labor. We do not get to pick whether it's a wild animal, or a friend, who will take a part of our beautiful offspring. We must trust that our efforts at growing the best children possible will be enough to have them thrive in the world that is beyond home.

And so, we raise our children, not in order to keep them with us always, not to suck from them all of the years of love and work we have put in, but in order to present them as our gift to the rest of the world. We may never be able to savor their ripened character, but we must be okay with letting them go as our offering of love.