Margaret And Grace

Do you ever find yourself doing something ordinary, and out of the blue, a memory comes flooding back from years ago An incident long forgotten flashes into your mind as fresh as if it were yesterday..

.Storm Amy brought down fruit from our two trees. I collected the windfall, and then picked all the remaining fruit. I had two large bowls full of apples and pears, some a little bruised, and many of the apples with insect holes. And my peeling machine was still in use at my friends house...

Without my gadget it would take forever, especially with all the cutting away the damaged portions. Was it really worth it? So many imperfect fruits -why not just tip the lot in the compost bin?

And I remembered a day in 1982. Bob was a student, Liz was 6 months old - and in the flat upstairs lived another student family. They had just had a second child, and were on the point of moving to a larger flat. I went upstairs to offer help. The weary young Mum said "Can you deal with these apples? An old lady at church sent them to us a couple of days ago. I don't want them, I haven't got enough time to look after the children, get ready to move and peel a load of rotten apples!" She handed me a heavy plastic carrier full of fruit. I carried them back to my kitchen. I was grateful - we were living on the breadline, and free food was wonderful.

I put Liz down for a sleep, then went back to the bag. I tipped it into the washing up bowl. 80% of those apples were bruised, or worm eaten...I wept with frustration. Why would somebody think that was a suitable gift for anyone ? Especially  for a busy mother moving house. It was insulting, and thoughtless...I was about to bag them up again and put them in the bin when somebody knocked at the door. It was Margaret, the wife of one of Bob's college tutors. "I've just been upstairs visiting the new baby, and thought I'd call and see how you were. Are things going OK?" 

I told her I was annoyed about the rubbish apples - and she gently suggested I made a cup of tea, whilst she had a look at them. Maybe the old lady didn't realise how bad they were, she said, and wanted to give a gift to young people training for ministry. If they had been in the bag since Sunday they would have deteriorated, some were imperfect, but not all. Perhaps we could salvage enough for a pie or a crumble. 

While I made tea, then pacified the baby and changed her nappy, Margaret worked cheerfully. She. peeled and trimmed, and soon my biggest saucepan was full of chunks of good apples. She swept the cores and peelings into the bag, and tied it up to go in the bin.

I felt very humbled. I'd seen a bag of imperfect apples, and felt annoyed and ungrateful. She had seen someone's thought and generosity, and found the good and useful fruit.

She had taught me a lesson in grace, that I have never forgotten.