My friend Jean once told me about the time that she had come home after a full day at the clinic, then an hour’s drive to a hospital in the city to visit her daughter and her ill, newly born grandchild. The preemie boy, her only daughter’s only child, born to Nancy and Greg who were in their forties, was a complete surprise, an unfathomable blessing… and now, would he live?

When Jean turned into her driveway late on that full-mooned, humid, summer night, she was tired and discouraged. She looked toward her long-time home and saw an oddly shaped form hanging from the doorknob of her old, brick, country house. “Oh, bother – what now? Kids pulling pranks?” She sighed and opened the car door. As she wearily walked down the shadowy stone path, a sweet fragrance filled the air. She recognized the scent: “Plums!” she thought with surprise. “Has someone brought me some plums, God bless them?” From the path, she looked carefully at her moonlit door. Yes! Someone had left a paper bag full of plums hanging on her door handle.

With this sudden understanding, Jean’s energy returned. She walked quickly to the door and eagerly reached into the bag of fruit. Her hand found the smooth skinned, soft, fragrant fruit, and she immediately popped a plum into her mouth, remembering only then that she had eaten nothing since lunch. Now she stood there on the mat in front of her locked door eating plums, the spurting juice staining her mouth, her hands, and dripping freely to her feet on the welcome mat.

With the sticky, fragrant, red plum juice clinging to her from chin to toe, Jean let herself into the house. Hope, viscous and sweetly scented, filled her heart.