Raspberry Iced M

If you are new here, you may have questions about my blog name.

Raspberry Iced M.

It’s a fair question.

To answer that question, I have to rewind time.

About 20 years ago, Sonic aired this commercial advertising raspberry iced tea:

For reasons I still cannot adequately explain…

I laugh every time I watch it.

And thus the birth of a two-decade inside joke: Raspberry Iced M (where the “M” coincides with the first letter of my name, Meg).

Truth be told, it was never meant to become anything significant. It was just funny.

But funny things have a way of becoming meaningful over time.

As years passed, I decided to start writing publicly, and I kept the name because it was familiar. Comfortable. A tiny piece of my history.

And I never really stopped to question why I’ve been so attached to it.

So I started researching raspberries, and what I found surprised me.

In some early Christian work, raspberry juice represented blood and became associated with kindness, generosity, and the compassion of Jesus. Whether or not that symbolism is universally accepted is of no consequence to me. I loved the picture it painted in my mind and the idea that a simple fruit is a reminder of sacrificial love.

More than that, raspberries are planted into the ground. They don’t get to choose their environment. But their survival is totally dependent upon growing roots and staying where they are, even if richer soil exists elsewhere. Having been a “runner” for most of my adult life, I found irony in the fact that I made a commitment to the Lord – and to myself – that this blog would reflect the staying power I want to possess.

Staying rooted. Sitting in discomfort when my reflexes want to run. Enduring the consequences of my poor choices while resisting the urge to dismiss the hurt I have caused others and myself. Holding my ground when my feelings try to convince me that I can’t. Planting myself firmly in prayer and in the Word and refusing to accept that I have no value, even if it looks like I am worthless on paper. Allowing pruning. Not chasing. Coping quietly – yet bravely – under the hardest of circumstances. Doing all of that without a need for recognition – because raspberries are not martyrs and are rarely praised for surviving – while also trusting that the Lord will bring fruit in His time, not mine.

And on a more personal level, upon observation, raspberries are incredibly delicate. Soft. Fragile. Easily squashed by the elements around them. And when I started writing, I was much the same way. Crushed by rejection, criticism, disappointment, and my own mistakes.

Life has a way of reminding us just how fragile we really are. How quickly everything can change. How little we actually control.

And yet…

Raspberries do not grow out in the open. They grow, protected, behind thorny canes.
Sweetness…surrounded by thorns.
I couldn’t ignore the metaphor. Because isn’t that the story of many beautiful things?

The rose has thorns. Jesus wore thorns on His head. And the sweetest fruits often grow in places that require careful hands to reach them.

My life has felt a little like that.

There have been thorns. Consequences. Heartbreak. Grief. Regret. Loneliness – so much loneliness.

Some of those thorns were placed by other people. And some I grew myself.

But somehow, by the grace of God, this raspberry has still grown.
Not because my life has been easy.
But because He has been faithful.

I married into an incredibly creative family. My daughter-in-law is a tattoo artist – a busy one – because she is a good one. Having already been inked – thrice – I began making plans for a fourth tattoo, and raspberries seemed like the only appropriate option. Not because they represent perfection. In fact, quite the opposite.

Raspberries remind me that delicate things are still valuable.
That a sweet spirit can exist alongside suffering.
That elegance can grow even in difficult places.
That protection sometimes comes wrapped in thorns.

So while most people just see red fruit, I see a story. A silly commercial that became a username. A username that became a blog. A blog that became a place where I practice honesty and vulnerability. And now a tattoo that reminds me every day that God has a remarkable way of taking ordinary things and giving them extraordinary meaning.

What started as a joke has become a theme – that the smallest, strangest parts of our story can become threads that God quietly weaves into something magnificent.

And that’s how He works most often in my life – not by erasing my story – but by redeeming it.