fresh fruit kind of love

there is a knock at the door, 
more frequent in the summer, but truly,  in all seasons. 

it is char, our beautiful neighbor, aged with wisdom, beauty, and a wrinkly twinkly voice. 

her hands are never empty. 
she always cradles a bucket, 
or a colored tupperware (which she always gently reminds me she needs it back) and she comes bearing 
edible delectable gifts.
pumpkin cheescake, 
plucked green beans, 
raspberries and strawberries from the farm, 
the most gorgeous sky blue, 
terra cotta, and 
cream colored eggs nestled neatly in two rows in the carton, which again she reminds me-
“I need the egg carton back so i can fill it with more.”
She and Fritz drop over chocolates and popcorn at Christmas,
she brings over lettuce, spring greens from her own garden, 

the crunchiest cucumbers, 
gigantic zucchini, 
freshly baked blueberry pie,
and plump juicy tomatoes.
all jewels she gives us, 
in my eyes.

she wouldn’t just give earthly fruit, but she would also carry her basket 

fruits of the Spirit to our door. 
She would pull out love, joy, and peace, 

encouraging me when my kids were little and I was overwhelmed 

plump, raw, and 
emptied from giving birth. 
I remember her saying,
“you can relate to Christ on the cross because He too, 

gave His body as a living sacrifice, and here you have done it too.”
She would pull out kindness and compassion,

stopping to pray with me when I was discouraged about the health and injury of my eye and wondering if I would lose my sight in that eye. 
she hugged me as I cried and made me feel less alone, 

less afraid. 

there are countless stories like this. of Char. 

fruits. vegetables. 

words of encouragement. 

eggs. 

frozen meat from the deep freezer.

and now she is no longer here, 
but with Jesus face to face,
tending to a garden no doubt, 
that He has prepared for her.
Maybe she is playing the accordion for Christ, 

or pressing her feet against the pedals of the organ,
praising God with hymns of 
joy and praise.

I miss her already. 

I will miss seeing her through the window, 

foam rollers floating on her head, her silk scarf a crown. 
I will miss seeing her over the fence, our backyards touching,
she would always stop to chat. 
talk about the heat. the sun.
the weather. the children.

Jesus.

canning cherries. 

the Church. 

she’d ask about Psalm, our youngest who has forgone multiple heart surgeries. 
I know without a shadow of a doubt, 

her and fritz were on their weathered knees in prayer on 

his behalf, 
I will never ever forget these gifts. 
Heaven has gained a saint.

i am sure there was a large celebration and commotion when the word got around 

that Char had come Home.

I will miss you, Char. 
most beautiful

of fruit. 

rest in the arms of Jesus, 

charlotte stucki, 

october 15, 1942 - August 8, 2026     

i grind the beans,

for the love of God.

i wipe the counters and sweep the floors,

for the love of God.

i place a sticker on the cup, calling out the drink and 

its owner by name,

all for the love and glory of God.

I put the pastry in its white and green envelope

for the glory of God.

I steam the milk and clean the wand

for the glory of God.

i can do all these little things for God.

All work is worship.

when I serve and love his people 

I do it unto the Lord.

i operate in the small.  

engagement party

the grass stood tall,

all their green hands raised in joy

like a million little ring fingers,

they are all, now newly engaged,

and want to show me their

glistening diamonds they were 

proposed with. 

they are quite literally  dripping in 

diamonds. the best kind.

mister head sprinkler head groom

bent down on his rubber knee and 

they all said in gleeful unison, 

"yesssssss!"

I make sure to write down every

single nice thing you said to me.