When I was a kid my family had several blackberry bushes lining our back fence, but I hate blackberries, and so does most of the rest of my family. Year after year, the blackberries would grow in abundance, only to later rot on the branches, never being picked. Eventually, we just started inviting neighbors to come into our backyard to pick blackberries whenever they wanted. Entire families would come over, and take away buckets upon buckets of blackberries, because they actually liked them. I have a very specific memory of watching a family pick from our blackberry bushes as the sun went down one day, and you could see the happiness picking blackberries brought them in their body language.
For every few blackberries put into a bucket, at least one wound up in someone’s mouth, and everyone walked away smiling.
I found god in a blackberry bush
But the fruit was rotten
Its branches dead
Most of my experiences with those blackberry bushes revolved around cursing their existence. I spent many hot summer hours weeding them, my knees and hands both aching. In my juvenile brain, my parents were almost certainly guilty of violating child labor laws.
But those blackberries were not lacking in purpose or meaning, as they brought joy to the families who came to pick them. I have found truth and joy to often be synonymous, and joy is rarely found where we stand. It must be actively sought out and harvested. Finding truth and joy removes from us cognitive dissonance and confusion, freeing us from their emotional weight. The family picking our blackberries walked down the street to find it, but oftentimes we must go much further afield.
Most of my experiences with many traditional modes of being and belief have been painful ones, as I struggled to make them fit my own life and self. For a long time, this left me extremely bitter and jaded, because I deeply envied those who did find joy where I found pain.
But our relationships with god and with ourselves are intensely personal, and we each construct god in our own image. For some people, more traditional modes of belief serve that purpose perfectly. For others, god looks much different. And this is all okay. Attempting to enforce a strict single interpretation of existence does nothing but cause frustration and pain. Embracing the individual experience is what truly enables joy.
My parents moved away from that house, and the blackberry bushes I so hatefully tended are long gone, but I’m sure I’m not the only one who still remembers them. I lost my faith in god years ago, but have felt much closer to the divine ever since.
I found god in a blackberry bush
The fruit was sweet
Its branches heavy
But it was not for me
this is beautiful!
thank you Spencer