Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

In the left corner of my backyard, just outside the pasture fence, stands a large well-established patch of raspberry canes, affectionately dubbed “The raspberry hedge.” It was here when we moved in, already trellised and watered by an automatic irrigation system. When we came to look at the house prior to purchasing, the sellers told us it was a very productive patch, naming a large number of quarts they believed it would produce that year. I smiled and nodded, mentally scoffing. Surely that number couldn’t be right! 

The berries began ripening in late July. A few at first. Then quite a few. Then a lot. Then quite a lot! About 50 pounds of raspberries came out of the hedge before it finally spent itself for the year. Admittedly, we were relieved to have the productivity slow. Happy to have the produce put up for winter, but also happy to preserve something, anything, other than raspberries. 

Our hedge is quiet now. The birds and bees and squirrels no longer scold us for harvesting the fruits they jealously claimed as their own. There is little for me to do out there anyway. Outside of removing dead canes and shoring up the trellis, the plants will do exactly what God created them to do. The primocanes will turn brown and lose their leaves. Leftover floricanes will give their carbohydrates to help the plant survive the winter. They will lie dormant until spring. Dormant. Not dead. 

Mid-winter, when the snow is deep, the temperatures freezing, I’ll leave my crackling wood stove and look out the window into the backyard. I’ll look over the shrubs and trees, empty planters and garden space. Eventually, my gaze will wander to the raspberry hedge. There will be no fruit, no green leaves, no birds vying for the first ripe berry. It will look dead. I know it isn’t. I will know that underneath the snow and dirt, roots are resting, waiting, storing up nutrients, ready to shoot up new canes as soon as the weather permits. Because raspberry bushes, like most other trees and plants, aren’t made for constant production without time for rejuvenation and renewal. Neither are you. 

Over the years, we have become a noisy, restless, overly busy society. There is no day of rest. No moment of contemplation. No peace, no quiet, no calm. Noise is everywhere. Possibly the largest pollutant on the planet. Useless banter. Pointless arguments. Wearisome whining. Amid the social belief that more is better, we have forgotten the treasure of solitude, the gift of quietude, the perspicacity of rest and meditation on the things of God. We have traded the wisdom of talking to God for the gratification of talking to people, forfeiting the blessing of His whispered answers for the commiseration of the crowd. Our busyness with business, our striving to keep up, show up, put up, has robbed us of our much-needed ability to shut up. It is wearing on our souls. 

We were not created to be 24-7 people, networking, working, or socializing around the clock. We were made for rest, for introspection, for communion with God. We were made for substance, not simply style. We were created to be the well-rooted, well-watered, well-tended exhibitions of God’s care, the touch of His hand in the world around us, the voice of His leading when others are going astray. God’s intentions are that we should be the godliness in the world around us. Steady, strong. Like the godly man depicted in Psalm 1. (Exodus 20:8-10; Psalm 37:7; Titus 2:12; I Timothy 6:6-7; James 5:20) 

In his artful way, with words as his brush, the Psalmist paints a beautiful landscape. A hearty, well-established tree is comfortably situated on the bank of a rushing stream. Its trunk is thick and stable. Its roots run deep. It’s not going anywhere. The stream could overflow its banks, the wind could howl and whip its branches, that tree would stand firm. The leaves sprouting from those strong branches are lush and green, healthy and vigorous. In the fruiting season, hidden beneath those leaves, in great abundance, hangs perfect, beautiful fruit. Why? Because that tree is maintained by the hand of God. It is God’s tree. Dedicated, devoted fully to Him alone. Delighted to be such. That tree is the soul of the godly, the heart of the one who puts God as chief executive officer and never rescinds the position. (Psalm 1:2-3)

This is the key to fruit bearing. Complete surrender to the teaching, pruning, nurturing of God. Spending uninhibited time with Him. Listening to His words. Knowing His laws. Obeying them. It will not always be comfortable. It will always be necessary. You won’t love everything He says to you, but adhering will increase your fruit yield. You may dislike His corrections, find them horribly unpleasant, but accepting them will improve the flavor of your fruit. You might find His pruning nearly intolerable, but when you let go and let God change your life, your soul will be the healthiest it has ever been. (Proverbs 3:12; Hebrews 12:5-11; Psalm 119:165; Proverbs 15:10) 

In the early spring, the experts say I’m supposed to severely prune my raspberries. It breaks my heart. I don’t want to do it. But I will. I’ll don my boots and gloves, take my garden shears and follow their instructions to the letter. Why? Because I want healthy, vibrant, fruitful plants. I want them to be the best they can be, the best they have ever been.

God wants the same thing for you, a million times more than I want it for my raspberry hedge. He wants to tend, water, and prune your heart so you can be the best possible image of Him in this busy, noisy world. He’s the expert. Why not let Him? Why not shut out the noise of the world, hunker down with God and meditate in His law? Soak it in. Rest in it. Ask Him what it means and how it relates to your personal fruit production. And what would you gain if you sat in quiet contemplation to ensure you hear Him when He whispers back? 

Friend, you were not created to rise early and stay up late working and striving and struggling to attain some pinnacle of greatness, prestigious accolade, or social acceptance. No. You are already loved and accepted beyond your wildest dreams. So shut out the clamour of the world and let God give you rest. Surrender yourself to Him. Let Him make you what you were created to be. Allow Him to make your life the healthy, fruitful, godly place He intended. Let Him live there. Dwell there. Run the place. Let Him make you fruitful, a deeply rooted, well-watered, lovingly nurtured example of Jesus Christ in a starving world that’s too busy to bear fruit worth wanting. (Psalm 127:2; Psalm 4:3-4; Colossians 1:10; Matthew 3:8; John 15:4-5; Matthew 12:33; John 3:30)