Praise for Cranberries

Joy is 55 degrees with a light drizzle and I'm kneeling in the marsh hunting cranberries. The wild wind that blew the snot right out of my nose and onto my dog was a bonus. So much of my life is disgusting and amusing at the same time.

This is the carnivore of the bog, but
the tiny red branch is a cranberry plant

I was giddy with my numb fingers digging in the moss for the elusive cranberry. I'll pick other berries, but a cranberry bog on a melancholy day fills me with elation. Seriously. 

The low bush cranberry plant only produces one berry and you have to kneel and develop a keen eye to see them. Rarely does one walk away with a huge haul; my goal was a cup for ginger cranberry muffins.

I came home and once I got the feeling back in my fingers, I set to work making muffins. Baking is not in my skill set. I have the patience to lie in a bog and find single berries, but I can't measure more than three ingredients without losing my patience and calling it close enough. 

I'm always tempted to pray for patience, but what I really want are situations that don't require patience. I don't pray for patience because I know the only way to becoming more patient is practice and I don't want God to give me any more practice. 

But, what if I could turn the situations that get me irritated and anxious into cranberry moments? What if I could figure out how to kneel right in the middle of all the discomfort and look for treasures? I'd much rather be filled with joy instead of irritated and impatient. 

There are so many fun and wonderful aspects of middle age and menopause, but one of my favorites is feeling like a layer of skin has been removed and I'm so much more vulnerable and sensitive to the stimulation of the world. It's easy to lose patience when I feel that exposed so if I suddenly kneel when I'm talking to you, take note, I'm looking for cranberries.