The Value of an Orange

Teach us to realize the brevity of life,

so that we may grow in wisdom.

Psalm 90:12 NLT

 As a toddler, I loved watching my dad do stuff. I'd mimic him driving and working in his shop. When I was older, he taught me to shoot and fish. And I’d watch him, fascinated, as he ate an orange. 

First, he’d roll the ripe orange between his palms for a few moments, then sniff it. Then he’d take his pocket knife and drill a hole around the stem, cautiously pulling free a small cap, with much of the white stem from inside still attached. Then he’d suck much of the juice out through the hole, mashing the orange with his fingers. After a few moments, he’d pull the fruit apart, slowly pulling the sections from the rind, eating the remaining meat.

I’ve never seen anyone else eat an orange like that. He savored every morsel. Only later did my mother explain that when they were growing up, oranges were a rarity, like many other things in the 1930s rural South. The Great Depression hit the area hard, and oranges were expensive, shipped in by trucks from Florida, and usually only seen around Christmas. Kids would find them in their stockings, and they were a prize worth celebrating. The way my dad ate an orange was designed to waste nothing, not even a drop of juice, and to prolong the enjoyment. And I seldom eat one today that I don’t think of him.

 Knowing how much my parents had lacked during their childhood made me sad. As I grew up, however, I saw the wisdom their lives had ingrained in them as well. They were practical people, fixers and tinkerers. Nothing went on the trash heap unless it absolutely could not be fixed…but if that were the case, it was slung free with no regrets. They moved on, and did without if there was no money to replace it. But my dad was also a barterer, and he once traded a car for a paved driveway. Another time he traded his bush-hogging services for half a cow. They found a way.

I learned some of their wisdom, but not nearly enough, so this verse from Psalm 90 resonates with me. My dad died at 69, a reminder of life’s brevity. Now, in a time when so much is disposable, when older people are sometimes “invisible” to those around them, I pray we’ll take the time to absorb what they have to offer. Because there is so much to lose.

Prayer

Thank you, Lord, for the wisdom you have granted those who ask. Let us listen to them and remember your gifts in our lives. Amen.