When I bite into Northwest wild berries, I remember my Dad. That’s what I’m doing on the night before Lent as Roger and I sit by the fire eating warm blackberry cobbler dolloped with yogurt. Dad knew that when our family visited Oregon in August I would grab him to go with me to conquer the thorny thicket of bushes for the sake of getting plump berries. We would tie to our belts the handle of an empty plastic milk bottle cut to hold the harvest. And I didn’t mind the pricks or purple stains for Ihad my eyes on the delicious reward.
As we enter a time to ponder and prepare for the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ my “pre-preparation” is conversation over cobbler about the power of legacy. Isn’t it amazing how certain foods bring back memories of people! My Dad left a priceless legacy of humility and love. Here’s what strikes me as the fruity taste of blackberries lingers—Dad’s legacy doesn’t diminish over time; it grows! It sings to me with power and authority. It calls me to trust Christ as he trusted Christ. I do not deserve the legacy my parents gave me; but the older I get the more I treasure it. And that aptly describes the legacy this season calls us to— to partake and grow in treasuring the undeserved grace and hope of Christ. May your preparation in the days ahead enhance your joy at your Easter table.