God in His creative genius has created a double purpose for some fruit: to protect the seed within it and to nourish the one who eats it, and like is always the case when it comes to nature, lessons are hidden everywhere. So much scripture in the Old and New Testament draws our attention back to nature. The more we observe, the deeper the lessons go. Seeds, trees, and fruits are no exception and so there is a danger to narrow the lessons down to my knowledge, experience, and imagination. I do not want to do that. My desire is to spark your mind and heart to dig deep into the imagery of the seed, so implications of its imagery will be left up to you. Verses should be flowing through your mind at this point, so pull out that Bible and revisit them. See what Jesus said about the seed that submits to do what it was created to do. Remember what nourishment our lives are supposed to give as others taste the fruit of our actions. Be reassured of our identity, rooted and grounded.
The main verse in my mind while writing this has been one that has seemingly nothing to do with nature. “In returningand rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength. But you were unwilling . . .” (Isaiah 30:15 ESV).
Through the process of writing, I find myself being called to return and rest in my identity as the planted, nurtured Oak of Righteousness. To quietly trust that the Gardener has put each season for a purpose, not to be rushed through or circumvented. To become convinced that my strength is in hushed assurance, not frenzied work. The question is, am I willing to submit to this reality or will I refuse and create my own which will end up looking like a cheap imitation of the real thing?
A small seed pushed into the soil sits and waits. Waits for the spring rains to soften its tough casing. Waits for the sun to warm its new home. Motionless, but not dead, even though it looks to be so. To pluck it out and hold it in open palm alongside a pebble would yield little difference. Shape, texture, and color might vary, but both would remain in hand as long as the hand decided to hold it. They would not wiggle around or amuse the hand with riddles and jokes. Each would remain right where it was.
Their difference in essence would only be exposed if the hand chose to push seed and pebble into dirt and cover them. Once again, they would both remain motionless and still, but as the sunrays crept into the soil and water saturated it, the seed would slowly show itself a thing entirely set apart from a pebble. A living organism of minuscule proportion ravenously reaching up and stretching down, finding all it needed on the way. Only when large and visible would we oooh and awww at the miracle of the thing, even though it was there all along. An embryo already containing everything necessary to impress sat in dirt, not bothered at all about being unnoticed.
Impressing is not its main objective, hard to believe when captivated by the majestic redwood or the elegant cherry in bloom or the fantastical rainbow eucalyptus. It is indifferent to the googly-eyed visitors. One thing is on its mind: fruit. Its one aim is produce fruit. Anticlimactic for us, but everything to the seed now become plant, on its journey to treehood. Everything it does is for the singular purpose of producing fruit, for hidden within it is the future: a seed. Another little seed to fall to the ground and get pushed in the dirt, to grow, and eventually to take the place of the older generation. Trees have impressive lifespans when compared to ours, but they are not eternal. Eventually they will crash to the forest floor, but even in this, the future is on their mind as it gives its body to the young, strength and richness absorbed by the new saplings little by little as the old decays.
For the giants of old forests, this is years, decades, centuries of a process. Neither hastened nor avoided. Impressive not just in size, but also in diligence. One seed will produce how many more when it towers above; hundreds? Thousands? I do not know, but the number is far more than one. Think of how many apples can be picked from an apple tree in one season alone and how many seeds are hidden away in each apple. Then think of how many seasons an apple tree can produce fruit in its lifetime. Needless to say, that is a lot of seeds and all of that is accomplished by doing absolutely nothing. No, not nothing, that is not fair. It is very industrious and uses every resource available to it, but it is not a workaholic.
There is no frantic rushing from one end of the woods to the other, pushing and shoving the other trees in order to get another hour of sunshine on its leaves so that it can make up for the days when the sun does not show up at all. On those days, when the sun remains elusive, it does not panic, measuring the developing fruit on its branches as it calculates the number of days until harvest. It does not bow its head in shame when a bad year brings a bad harvest. It does not boast and flaunt when its branches are bowed under the weight of a bountiful one.
That is the most impressive thing about it. It is unmoved. Neither fluctuating elements, nor more productive neighbors can throw it off its course. It follows the seasons of the year, receiving everything each season has in calm assurance that it will succeed and that one day fruit will hang from it, its treasure within.
Some fruit is colorful and juicy, luring all kinds of creatures in for a better look and hopefully a taste. One bite leads to another and soon all that is left is the seed, which is disposed of: either immediately or after traveling through the digestive system. Either way, if it is lucky, it will fall on some dirt and the whole mesmerizing process starts again. Not every seed will find its way to the right conditions for life to sprout again, but some will, many will, and so the tree continues on its mission to produce fruit. Fruit that is not just meant to hang there and look pretty, but meant to be eaten.
I would like to close with a prayer that I hope will be joined by your own unique prayer written or sung or whispered as we yield to the One who is Himself the Seed, the ultimate example of quiet trust as He rested in His identity and purpose as given by the Father. May our lives join with the trees and “declare the Glory of the Lord” (Psalm 19:1).
I thought I could survive,
By pulling You along,
like a servant to be called,
a religion to be mastered.
I was fine.
It was “life stuff” pulling me down.
the depression,
the three-year-old in my house,
the friends not calling.
The thoughts piled higher, rising like a cloud
Me on one side, the sun on the other.
Oh Light, bright and pure, shine on me.
Flood my heart with clarity,
My mind with truth,
My soul with purpose.
I am stopping, finally stopping,
In exhaustion,
In exasperation.
I do not know where I am going,
Self-deceived,
Broken,
Arrested.
Crying out for change, in me and not the seasons
Sick of using fruit to barter love,
to secure validation,
to trophy righteousness,
to fuel frustration when it never matures.
Oh Vine, source of all, I return to You,
waiting to be led,
bowing to adore,
yearning for different fruit.
A Spirit-filled yield, an heirloom variety.
in freedom to love, roots grounding me ever-deeper,
in wonders to joy, every day surroundings invigorating,
in peace to rest, every striving dying,
in patience to be present through growth and learning,
in kindness to stand amidst cruelty surrounding,
in goodness the beauty seeping in and embodying,
in faithful pilgrimage, length and discomfort, overcoming,
in Gentleness its power, all that cuts and stings smoothing,
self-control a wall around my heart and mind.
Plant Your garden, my heart the soil,
Humiliated, I admit my efforts lead only to wilderness with no promised land,
wandering with no manna,
death with no resurrection.
Oh Resurrection raise up this weary traveler.
Lead me in the way of nearness with You, insecurity cast far away,
Of Power in You, source and outgrowth separated,
Of Wisdom from You, seen and invisible discerned alike.
Lead me in the way everlasting,
Unfaltering,
Indestructible.
Amen.
