God in my Garden

For as long as I can remember being a Christian, I have struggled with fruit-bearing. I have gone through several seasons of painful barrenness, of producing too little, of watching what looked promising falter and fail. Over the years, it became a dull ache, like that of a woman who longs for a child - an ache that never quite goes away.

But God is merciful and compassionate - the one who sees our pain, who hears our cries!

When my husband got a job in Abu Dhabi, the prospect of leaving behind all that was familiar and comfortable, and moving to what seemed like the ‘other end of the world’, was overwhelming. Through a sermon, God gave me a promise ‘I have a purpose for you.’

He brought me to DIP, far away from the city. He then proceeded to remove all the noise, the distractions, the excesses - even relationships, that had taken up too much space in my heart. And in their place, he gave me a garden.

‘Now,’ he seemed to say, ‘wait and watch - all that I am going to teach you.’ And oh, the sheer weight, the wonder, the glory of all that he proceeded to teach me is beyond words.

But the most profound of those lessons came from a single plant - a yellow mandeville.

I bought this plant because I love flowers, and mandevilles are prolific bloomers, bursting with lush vines and bright yellow flowers. Mine, too, began with glossy leaves and eager tendrils that curled and climbed, full of promise. But as the days turned into months, not a single flower appeared.

And I saw myself in this plant - in its barrenness, in its lack.

After many months, a few buds appeared, just two or three. And once again, I saw myself in it - in the littleness of its fruit. But I still rejoiced and waited in hope. On the day the flowers were to bloom, I eagerly stepped out, but my heart sank as I saw the heavy buds lying on the ground - unopened. My mandeville had tried, struggled, and failed.

And I saw myself in its failure.

I couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. But I felt such deep compassion for this struggling plant. I identified with it so much. Each morning, as my eyes fell upon it, I ached for it and with it - an ache much like my own in my seasons of fruitlessness.

Until, one day, many months later, I stepped out, and there before me stood a single, radiant yellow flower - fully open and perfect in form. My mandeville had quietly bloomed, without my noticing.

I moved forward, drawn by this powerful urge to touch, and as I gently cupped that perfect yellow flower in my hands, I whispered, “Hello there!” In that moment, my heart filled with a fierce, tender affection for this bloom that had come from struggle, loss and pain. This flower felt more precious than all the other beautiful, effortlessly blooming flowers in my garden.

And, as I stood there transfixed, I heard a gentle whisper, ‘Now you know how I feel about your “very little” fruits.’

My eyes welled with tears, my heart with adoration. And, there I worshipped my God - in my garden, in front of my yellow mandeville.

Perhaps, you too, know this struggle?

Scripture is clear that God looks for fruit in us, that who we are is known by the fruit we bear, and that fruit comes from abiding in Christ (Luke 13:1-8, Matthew 7:16-20, John 15:1-17). We know all this, and somehow it only makes the struggle worse.

We struggle - when we fail, when we don’t know what to do differently, when we ‘abide’ and still fail. We struggle watching others bear fruit seemingly effortlessly. We struggle with man’s judgement. We struggle with the silence of God.

But what if the struggle is itself God’s mercy - meant to powerfully draw us to him, to make us cling to him, to yield, to depend, to go back to him, and keep going back - for that is abiding!

Here is what I am learning - on our own, we don’t really know who we are! Am I a shrub that will bear tiny blueberries? A vine that will produce enormous watermelons? An oak that will take decades to bring forth its first acorn? A wild plant that will bloom just once, and die? None of us know - only our Creator, the heavenly gardener does. And he is at work - quietly, faithfully and at the right time, he brings forth fruit for his glory alone. All we have to do is abide in him, rest, and wait in eager anticipation - for that which is well worth the wait.

This is my prayer now - My Creator God, let my fruit, however tiny, however few, be utterly sweet and pleasing to you.

Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin. - Zechariah 4:10 (NLT)