Standing in Abundance
The cherries are ripe! The orchards hum with color—branches heavy with red, the trees bending slightly under the weight of their own generosity. Everywhere you look, something is ripening. The fields are lush, the air warm, the light endless. It’s the season when Michigan feels most like herself: abundant, fragrant, overflowing in every direction. Walking through the cherries this time of year almost feels like walking through my childhood–makes me think of laying on the deck of our tree house, plucking cherries straight off the tree, cherry juice staining my fingers.
Standing in abundance is a practice of its own.
For so long, I lived as though goodness needed to be portioned carefully, as if joy had limits. But cherry season tells a different story. There is more than enough. The branches don’t hold back to be polite. The trees don’t ration beauty. The fruit doesn’t apologize for being plentiful.
You are allowed to have the whole pie.
Not in excess, but in belonging. In the simple truth that abundance is meant for all of us—and that we aren’t meant to walk through seasons like this nibbling at the edges. The cherries remind me of this every year: generosity is the natural order of things. The earth doesn’t withhold. It pours itself out.
Lately, I’ve been practicing letting the season be generous with me. Saying yes to more than I think I deserve. Letting myself linger longer than necessary. Letting joy be uncomplicated, unmeasured. Letting a good thing be good without shrinking it or qualifying it. I have to protect this practice. It doesn’t come naturally. Some off handed comment, a casual jab can still knock me off my course. It’s strangely vulnerable to receive this freely. But each time I soften into it, something in me widens—like my ribs expand to make room for more breath. Even my paintings seem to want more color, more room—like the season itself is asking me to create from abundance, not scarcity.
Maybe you’re in a season like this too—one where life is offering you a kind of fullness you’re not used to holding. Maybe abundance feels unfamiliar, or even slightly uncomfortable, because you’ve spent years taking only what felt “reasonable.” But cherries don’t ripen in halves. And joy doesn’t come in controlled portions.
What if this is a season to let yourself receive?
Where is life offering you more than enough—and how might you say yes to the whole pie?
May this July remind you that abundance is not something you earn. It’s something you are invited to receive.
