My mouth started watering the instant I saw them. Peaches. A whole pile of lovely golden peaches with a ripe blush. I had already been dreaming of peaches for about a week. Knowing that we would soon be back in the States, where peaches are readily available, had piqued my appetite. But here, hidden in this grocery store in Manila, were real peaches. I knew better. I knew it was February, not peach season. I knew I was in Manila, not Denver, Colorado. The price alone should have stopped me. But my mouth was already watering so I splurged. After all, the peach had a nice firm softness about it that seemed just right. And I was pregnant and needed more healthy variety in my diet. So I took the plunge.
I knew the moment the knife pierced the skin that it had been a mistake. No juice dripped out on my fingers. No irresistable smell reached my nostrils. I finished cutting the peach, the damage having already been done. Before sharing with my daughter I tried a bite myself. Mealy and tasteless. Ugh. I tried disguising my mistake by mixing it with delicious bites of mango and juicy ripe pineapple. She was not fooled. "Ugh. What is this mommy? I don't like it."
I thought then about how timing is everything. A perfect blessing at the wrong time is no blessing at all. So I could cry about the peaches I'm "missing out on" or I could thank God for keeping them on the tree until they are truly delicious and I'm on the right continent to enjoy them.