Fig Trees

For one reason or another, I hadn't been listening to my iPod while commuting. This past weekend I did that Autofill thing on my Shuffle to get some new songs in there. It had the most uncanny timing this morning.

After I read Spurgeon's morning meditation on the train. I put on the iPod and it was some really good David Crowder which I haven't listened to in awhile. And as I was getting out of my last train and surfacing to the ground, The Northern's "All The Greatest Things" came up, which was really surprising since I really haven't listened to them in months and months. Made crossing the street toward the skyscraper I work in suddenly very dramatic. I forgot this was in there but what struck me today was this line: "We are fruitless fig trees..." Dave puts it in there real quick, but it meant a lot to hear it today.

I've been really feeling useless and fruitless at work. It seems this is the ongoing struggle of this season in my life. My degree, my intelligence, my spiritual depth, my social skills, my insight, all of it is counted as loss, and all of the sudden no one cares what Xaris is doing all day. At school, people would at least judge you for not working hard, but now, they don't even care to know. It's this feeling of continually moving forward in wide steps and growing and changing and maturing and learning, while essentially being exactly where I was 9 months ago. Teehee like a baby! What if I'm never born? I feel so held back. Like I'm stuck in this womb and God won't let me out until His time. It's draining to do nothing with yourself, hoping you're not being foolish. Like you're not doing what you were meant to do. It's kind of like what Jesus says about the fig tree. If it's fruitless, it might as well be dead.

But the greatest truths I've known have been absurd. And as Jesus brings judgment on this tree, he takes the punishment on Himself. He violently tears Himself to pieces for the love of the fruitless. This infinite life-giving fruitful tree does this for me the death-deserving fruitless tree. My complaints are silenced at this thought. I can only be justified by this faith and trust that I am sanctified in this period of angst and waiting.