As I was driving home from the grocery store one warm, summer afternoon, my phone rang, “Mom! Did you know that your fig tree has a fig on it, not just one, but another at the very top and two more at the bottom!” Her voice was filled with excitement as she relayed new information that I would be eager to hear. “You are kidding me?” I replied with exhilaration. Hannah knew I had almost given up on that fig tree.
Remembering back three years earlier when my son, Nathan, helped me plant the fig tree in our back yard. The tree was a gift from my daughter-in-law’s grandparents. When I laid eyes on her, she was a mere twelve inches in height with lots of lush, green foliage. I always wanted a fig tree ever since a friend from church invited us over to pick our fill from his more than abundant fruit tree. I would pick them, eat them, and make the sweetest jam.
Nathan began to dig just the precise hole. Shortly after digging he quickly responded, “Mom, we’ve got a problem, the ground where I started digging is soft and spongy.” Yikes!! I knew that could mean only one thing…septic tank problems. It was while waiting for the expensive repairs, I made sure the fig tree was tucked safely in her pot and bathed her often with waterings.
Finally, she was planted, safe and secure with plenty of fresh sunshine. That summer I checked regularly for fruit but to no avail. My limited knowledge of fig trees assumed that fruit would come quickly. When the end of summer came and left, I encouraged myself that surely next year there would be fruit.
Next summer came and once again I waited. She was now even taller and fuller with leaves as big as hands. Surely, this will be the summer of lush figs. The end of August came and went. But I was left with no visible signs of figs. Not even one.
At this point, I decided research was in order. Maybe another fig tree was necessary for pollination. I quickly learned fig trees are self-fertile and produce on their own…. Except mine.
By the third summer, she was beautiful and a full six foot tree. This is the summer I am going to see fruit, I told myself. I envisioned myself, along with my grandchildren, picking juicy, ripe figs savoring every sweet bite.
June, July, and August were filled with my usual, exciting strolls to the back yard. I carefully moved the huge, green leaves anxious to spot a fig but still no fruit.
It was September when my daughter called me that day driving home from the store. As I pulled in the driveway, I barely parked the car and hastened to the back yard, longing to see and confirm my daughter’s news. Quickly, I counted one…two… three…four beautiful, green figs all hanging so proudly from separate branches. But it was September. We always picked Mr. Leon’s figs in July.
My waiting was not over. Only two more figs appeared and each day they remained green and firm. Was this some sort of bizarre late blooming fruit? Summer was over and I doubted this fruit would ripen now.
My waiting turned to a rest and as the fall festivities rushed in so did chilly weather. Late one afternoon in early November, my husband said excitedly, “Did you happen to see that brown thing hanging from the fig tree outside?” Brown? That could only mean one thing…A ripened fig! Excitedly, I rushed outside and my eyes could hardly believe what I saw. One juicy ripe fig just waiting to be picked.
How did I miss this? When did I stop expecting and watching that fig tree? Perhaps I unknowingly entered a rest while in the waiting. In Hab. 3:17-18 it says, “ Though the fig tree may not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines; Though the labor of the olive may fail, And the fields yield no food; Though the flock may be cut off from the fold, And there be no herd in the stalls, Yet I will REJOICE IN THE LORD, I WILL JOY IN THE GOD OF MY SALVATION”
How may times I have anxiously waited for fruit to be produced in my own life. Looking patiently for God to move, to work, to show up in some area of my life or in the life of others. Discouragement and weariness lurked around every corner reminding me of how long I had been waiting.
The waiting room is never comfortable. Oftentimes it is cold, lonely and no visible signs of change. Hope is next door sitting quietly reminding me to not give up.
How easy it would have been to cut the fig tree down after three years of waiting. We look over our endless days, weeks, months and even years of trusting God. We wonder in the waiting.
No blossoms on the fig tree, no flocks, no olives…. Just waiting for the tide to turn in a situation or to hear a glimmer of good news about a matter that has been bathed in prayer. Surely it would be like rivers of water to a parched desert.
I long to see change in my circumstances especially in the long-awaited areas. Resting is never a bad place to be. It is a complete, total surrender to God for the concerns and weightier matters in my life. Sure, I still “watch and wait,” but I also rest in a God who knows only a thorough, flawless time to answer.
One day, I awaken with a new sense that a burden has been lifted gently, not necessarily removed, but clearly uplifted. Joy envelopes me as I embrace a fresh, new perspective on life. There may be just one ripe fruit, one slight change or one small season of rest that quickly refreshes and restores me so much, I hardly notice the unchanged circumstances.
Trusting in God through the difficult seasons is not easy and His work cannot be hurried. Learning to rest knowingly or unknowingly yields its own fruit. I can rejoice, I can joy in the God of my salvation as I realize the unexpected fruit did come after-all.
AngelaNorman.Org 