I thought it was just a peach.

As we perused the local farmers market in the late afternoon sun yesterday, elated at this perk of our new homestead, we happened upon a booth displaying baskets of gorgeous peaches. I was thrilled because peaches in Ohio are no-thing like peaches down here.

The best peaches are clearly from Georgia. They remind me of my Aunt Christie and how she talked to the wee and curious nieces and grandbabies with that elegant, smooth Georgia accent of hers on warm nights at the beach while she effortlessly peeled peaches and tossed them into the ice cream maker years ago.

Because of that personal connection with peaches--and because, when ripe, they taste like what I imagine heaven itself would taste like if one was to take a bite--I'm drawn to them and was so excited to get home, peel one, and eat it...until I got home, tried to peel one and eat it.

Anyone who has ever shared a meal with me knows I loathe messy food. And, yeah, in case you forgot (as I always do): peaches are messy. Really messy. Juice all over the place. And peeling them? Woof. Double dose of frustration coming right up!

I set aside my annoyance about the juicy mess, but the peeling was becoming increasingly more ridiculous. I kept trying and failing, trying and failing. Quickly pulling at pieces of the fuzzy skin to no avail.

On the last piece, I decided to try a different approach. Take my time. Peel back the skin slowly with precision, patience, and perseverance. Much to my surprise, the skin came off in whole, leaving me with nothing but a beautiful, heavenly-tasting piece'a peach.

In the midst of witnessing the success of the "slow and steady wins the race" method while peeling this peach, I began to realize that this moment served as a metaphor for my current reality as I am stepping into full time ministry in the local church.

I know myself well enough to know I will experience my natural inclination to kick everything into high gear, to try (and then fail) to do everything all at once, to sidestep the mess by any means necessary, and take any mess that comes as a personal failure of my character and capabilities.

My encounter with the peach showed me that my ways--fast, neat, perfectionist--are not the best ways. Nor are they realistic. God's people, the church, every last one of us is very much imperfect and lead messy lives. But within the less-than-perfect, within the mess, we recognize God's solidarity with and love for us and the ways we are called to be and do the same for one another. No matter how frustrating, foreign, or messy life's circumstances are, we cannot give up on each other if we want to experience the sweetness and goodness that life this side of heaven has to offer.

And here I thought it was just a peach.