Strawberry Picker

Almost as soon as our family rolled into Walla Walla for the summer, I noticed kids like me spread all across a huge strawberry field, picking fruit. That looks like fun, I thought. They can eat all the strawberries they want, and they get paid, besides! As soon as I had a chance, I signed up to join them.

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed at 5 am. When I arrived at the field, a man gave me a flat box with a handle. “Pick only the ripe berries,” he told me. “And we don’t want any stems or caps.” He pointed down a long row. “Start there. For every flat you fill, you’ll earn a quarter.”

At first it was fun—and the strawberries tasted wonderful. But soon my back began to ache and my
fingertips grew raw from constantly pinching off the stems. Before the day was half over, I didn’t feel much like eating any berries. By the end of strawberry-picking season, I didn’t care if I ever picked another strawberry.

The next summer, when I saw the strawberry pickers at work, I didn’t suppose they were having a blast. I knew what they were going through, because I’d been there!

That reminds me of one of the reasons I love Jesus so much. He knows what it’s like to live on Earth, because He’s been here, and He’s experienced every sort of temptation and sorrow we will ever have to face.