Strength, Indeed

On fruitfulness and who defines it

It’s quiet enough this morning to steep a full French press of herbs without interruption (nettle, gota kola, and lemongrass), even though the engine of my mind is already competing with the buzzing in my ears. So I find the extra large mug (“The Lord is my strength”), pour, and sink into the small armchair rocker in my bedroom.

The lesson from Tabletalk today is about the unfruitful fig tree, and I have time to ponder it while sipping tea and flipping pages in my Bible. “Am I fruitful?” I wonder. And then, “According to whom?” And then, “How will I know?”

It was easy as a child, for kindly affection was granted or withheld depending upon my appearance, interests, or performance. If my face was clear and my report card stellar, I could avoid frowns and at the same time increase my allowance. My teachers loved me, for my math columns were straight and I turned in my homework. Just tell me how to be or look, and in return for my obedience, give me affirmation.

Except that didn’t always wo…