Berry Picking Proselytizing

We went out to pick blueberries and blackberries at a local orchard on Saturday. The blackberries were mostly not yet ripe, but I managed to pick nearly 8 pounds of them. We ate some yesterday, and they were somewhat tart. But that’s neither here nor there. Except that it sets the scene.

As we were getting out of the van and getting everyone ready and all that, a rather old gentleman got out of the car next to us and started making small chat.

I was getting the stroller out of the back, and he started talking about how he wasn’t going to do any picking, and he could pay other people to do it for him, because he “made more money than he could spend” out in Virginia Beach. And besides, he wasn’t dressed for picking, and it was hot out.

Megan told him that they had lemonade slushies inside. But he said he’d rather they had a Budweiser. I went into the van at this point and didn’t hear how the conversation went, but when I got back I heard the tale end of Megan making a comment having to do with better beer (than Budweiser).

While I was putting sun screen on the kiddos he asked me what kind of van we had, and if we liked it or not. Before I could really give much of an answer, he explained how his son had totaled his four door pickup truck, and had bought a van for his family.

He continued to bring up almost random, but not quite, topics of conversation while we got ready the buckets for picking and all that rot. He asked what line of work I was in, and I told him. He didn’t care for the general sciences, he said.

It was probably inching towards ten minutes before all the kids were lining up and were ready to go.

He then said, “Are those all your kids?!”
“Yes, sir” I answered, with a smile.
He then quoted (or was it a paraphrase?) Psalm 127, and said that the Lord was blessing us. We agreed and thanked him, and moved to go to the fields. But he wasn’t done yet.

“But now” he inserted himself back into our lives, “is the important part.” He quoted another passage of Scripture, I think it was a proverb, but I’m not certain. It had to do with God’s Word in our heart.
“Yep!” we agreed. I then asked Geneva one of her catechism questions, “Where is God’s Word?”.

But he didn’t pay any mind to that. He was on a mission, it would appear. Not waiting to hear Geneva’s answer, he asked me, “What do I do for a living?”

I looked at him, somewhat confused. “What do you do?” I asked, clarifying his question. That was indeed what he was asking me, and so I said, “I don’t know” and began inching my family along the trail that lead to the field.

He muttered something and began walking closer to me. He said, “I quoted several passages of Scripture to you, and you don’t know what I do for a living?” He appeared to be astonished that I didn’t know how he made his living. But I answered him, “Nope.”

He shook his head and told me how he travels all around, and “everywhere I go, I preach the message of the gospel”.

At this point I interrupted him and said, “Well, you have a nice day. We’re going to go pick some berries.” As we walked away I heard him say something about not going away too soon.

I’m sure he thought he was doing something good. But the whole incident just reminds me of a time Megan and I were in a grocery store around midnight, and trying to decide what kind of ice cream to get, and a guy made a joke about he and his wife doing the same thing, and then forcing us into chit chat until he eventually started a sales pitch and asked me if I wanted to be his partner in some business he was starting.

In both cases, the initial kindness was a sham.