Interlude: The Two Fruit Trees and the Harvesters

One summer evening, just past twilight, the wind picked up outside a small suburban house with two fruit trees, some distance from each other, both producing the same fruit. The Younger tree, fatigued from her first year of producing fruit, appreciated the cooling effect of the wind. This was a pleasant diversion from the ever-present sun which usually accompanied the summer days. Why can't every day be like this? she asked herself.

The Older tree, on the other hand, recognized what this meant. She wished to tell the Younger, but the wind was now too strong for her voice to carry. She would have to tell the Younger afterward.

In the distance, a door slammed. The property owner and his son approached, boots pounding against the sidewalk, with plastic bags rustling as they drew near. What is he doing? the young tree wondered. I don't need pruning, and it's definitely not time to harvest yet.

To her great surprise, the older of the two set to work on her under-ripe fruit, rapidly plucking with only a flashlight to work by.

What? Why?! she asked. Is he out of his mind? Is he really so hungry that he can't wait for nature to take its course? My fruit isn't ready yet!

While picking, the father reached for clusters of her fruit, where picking one fruit dislodged the more-ripe fruit, sending it tumbling to the ground. Oh, so not only is he impatient, but he's clumsy as well, she griped. He clearly knows nothing of fruit harvest, since he's wasting so much fruit. He should be ashamed of himself.

The father continued harvesting. In his haste, he pulled some of her leaves off of her limbs, and even broke a few branches. How dare you! she yelled internally. How dare you rob me, not only of my fruit, but of my very limbs! What right do you have in maiming me like this?

While she fumed in this manner, the father finished gathering what he could from her branches. He hadn't taken everything from her limbs, but his treatment still infuriated her. He had never treated her like this before, and she couldn't forgive him for this abuse.

During this time, while the father tended to the Younger, the son was sent to tend to the Older. He worked in the same manner as the father had with the Younger--plucking the unripe fruit rapidly, dropping fruit, and occasionally breaking branches--but the Older took it all in stride. This was merely the harvesters' method before a powerful storm. She had experienced this for decades, and understood the meaning behind the harvesters' erratic methods.

Even though her fruit was not yet ripe, hers was a fruit that could ripen after plucking if needed. The son had asked about this during a previous storm-harvest, and his father had patiently explained. The Older came to appreciate these exchanges between father and son; so much wisdom came from these discussions, which the Older would not have received otherwise.

The fruit that fell did not bother the Older, either. Although it was dark at the moment, she knew from past experience that the harvesters never wasted fruit when they could help it. During storm-harvests with greater sunlight, she could watch the harvesters stoop down to recover the fallen fruit. There is always a use to be found for good fruit, the father once told his son. Bruises do not make the fruit inedible, after all.

Not even the broken limbs and torn leaves irritated the Older any more. In her earlier years, she remembered well how much she resented what appeared to be careless branch-snapping. But one year, when the father had entrusted his property to another during a family trip, a storm had arisen where no fruit was harvested. At first, she had enjoyed the harvesters' absence and the newfound lack of stress. But as the storm grew in strength, the powerful winds had strained and even snapped some of her larger, fruit-heavy branches, and tossed her fruit far and wide. In the morning, most of her fruit lay broken and splattered on the ground. It took the father much work to salvage what limbs he could, though a few of her larger limbs required removal. The storm remained a powerful lesson for the tree in future storms, one she remembered whenever she saw her twisted and deformed (yet healed) limbs. In perspective, these limbs lost from the harvesters' plucking were a small sacrifice to pay for her survival and future fruit-bearing.

The Older knew from her experience the wisdom behind the harvesters' methods, but also recognized from her own past the confusion and pain the Younger was going through. Once the storm passed, after the howling wind and roaring thunder had subsided, the Older called to the Younger to ask how she fared. The Younger ranted against the storm and the harvesters, wishing they had left her alone. The Older simply listened. After the Younger calmed down somewhat, the Older explained her past experiences, her anger and frustration, and the understanding she eventually gained. The Older shared the bigger picture in her wisdom, which answered the Younger's confusion in the moment. The Younger soon thanked the Older for her clarification, and both trees rejoiced together.

What storms have arisen in your lives? What storms are coming?
Are they only personal storms, or are there global storms coming?
What will that coming harvest look like? What will it feel like?
Will you presume it to be chaos, without any intelligence or wisdom behind it?
Will you, instead, look back and find God's hand guiding these events for your benefit?
Will you allow His hand to guide you now for your future benefit?
Are you now?
How is He asking you to prepare? What does He ask you to become? To do?
After you have been converted, and become more able to comprehend God's working in your life, will you then strengthen your brethren?
How?