These figs are from the tree in our orchard. The tree is laden with them. I've had them lined up on the window sill, turning and watching them, then squeezing them open and eating them when they are are as ripe as they can be without starting to spoil. Then they are the sweetest, most delicious thing I've been eating these days. And so sensual. The way the smooth soft skin yields under my fingers as I bite in. I'm in heaven.
I wouldn't be appreciating these figs right now if I hadn't gone sugar-free for Lent. I'd have enjoyed them, yes, but I wouldn't be anticipating them, wouldn't be relishing them the way I am. Sugar deadens our taste buds. It sets us up to want more, and sweeter, and now. Sugar makes the sweetness of the fig seem ordinary and bland, when really the truth is the opposite. Sugar is predictable, it hits the same outrageous high every time. It has no complexities, no surprises.
I want to be like a fig. I want to ripen softly, to open up when I'm ready. I want my words to be sweet but not cloying; attractive, but not irresistable. I don't want to woo with unsustainable highs, I want words that are ordinary yet when put together create something unexpected.
And I want to be soft. I want to be soft for my people. I want my softness to protect them, to nurture them, to rub off on them. I want to be sweet for them, to taste good to them.
The outer membrane of a fig thins and softens as it ripens, and eventually the flesh within bursts through. Until then the skin is surprisingly firm, for something so thin. The fig holds its package tightly, hiding it, tucking it in, pregnant with sweetness. I'm pregnant, we all are. We're all pregnant with something. With words or images; or acts of service, courage or discovery. We might be pregnant with kindness, faith, or hope. Do we let ourselves ripen? Do we allow our skin to soften, to be firm yet yielding? It's not easy.
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Beautiful Idoya.
ReplyDeleteA great fruit for metaphor, the fig is.
I admire your giving up the sugar for Lent. Will you stay on with that after Lent?
I love this:
I want to be like a fig. I want to ripen softly, to open up when I'm ready. I want my words to be sweet but not cloying; attractive, but not irresistable. I don't want to woo with unsustainable highs, I want words that are ordinary yet when put together create something unexpected.
And I want to be soft. I want to be soft for my people. I want my softness to protect them, to nurture them, to rub off on them. I want to be sweet for them, to taste good to them.
Oh, I want that too. I think it is how Jesus is and He is so beautiful, so right, so much like the fig in your post.
Blessings,
Kara
Kara, oh yes, you are so right. Sweet, sweet Jesus. sugar free post lent is a work in progress... i'll let you know :)
ReplyDeleteOh beautiful! My parents have a fig tree and it's one fruit I really, really miss. Here they occasionally have figs from California in the stores but they are ridiculously expensive and I can't quite bring myself to pay so much for what I used to have free for the picking when I was younger. Last year my dad came for a visit and brought a huge container of fresh figs. Oh they were so good! I love your metaphor here. I think at some point I may have to try sugar free. I did give up sweets for Lent but didn't give up sugar in my tea or honey in my bread and all the bits and bobs of sugar that creep in round the edges.
ReplyDeleteMelanie, I never really appreciated figs until this year. And now I can't ever imagine buying them either. You must miss them. You are so right about "all the bits and bobs of sugar that creep in round the edges." I was shocked when I figured out how much sugar we'd all been eating... that's with our relatively healthy home cooked, home baking no articificial additives diet!
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