Fruit comes in seasons

Muscadine vines, anxiety attacks, and welcoming the start of September

I turned off all the lights, flopped down on the bed, and put away my phone.

I’d been anxious and worried for days, and something in me finally said enough. The only action my body craved was no action at all. Some times, when the loudest voice in your body is anxiety, the only option in the moment is to turn off the lights, lay down, put away the screens, and to wait.

As I laid on my bed, breathing into my belly and out of my mouth, I said a little prayer: God, it’s too much. I’m overwhelmed. Help.

I kept waiting and taking deep breaths. I was hoping for direction, or at the very least, for a sense of peace to come. Gratefully, both gifts made their way to me. Peace flooded by body as I accepted the simple truth that it was time to cut some things off of my to-do list. Even things I wanted to do. Even things I told others I would do. I would have to release expectations and I’d have to drop some balls. I’d have to fail at some things so that I could be well and thrive at the most important things.

I’d simply have to stop.

If you’re anything like me—driven by achievement, focused on knocking things off the to do list, fixated on not letting anybody down—the idea of stopping can feel like an impossibility. When your since of worth and value is all wrapped up in other’s high praises of you, or in your sense of accomplishment at getting everything done, to stop doing some things can feel like failure and a loss of self-esteem.

I’ve learned time and time again when my sense of self worth is tied to achievement and perfection, the cost of such extractive behavior towards my own body is hardly ever worth it. It costs too much to be perfect. It costs too much to do it all. It costs too much to pretend like I don’t need help and like I don’t need boundaries. I do need help. I do need boundaries. We are human beings, not machines. We are not created for constant or consistent productivity. Like every other created thing, we produce fruit in seasons. Few, if any, plants bear fruit all year round.

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Muscadine season is nearing its end here in Georgia. A few weeks ago I texted my dad to see if the wild muscadine vines growing in his upper cattle field were ready for picking. They weren’t ready yet, he told me. Wait about ten more days, he said.

The muscadine harvest is one of my favorite moments of the year. I call it a moment because it really is quite brief. Once they begin to darken and ripen on the vine, you have about two weeks to really gather the best of them.

Once they were ready, Alex (my husband) and I made our way over to my parents house. We had to take the ladder and climb over a couple of fences to reach the best grapes, but we reached and picked and filled our bag with some of the best fruit late Georgia summer has to offer.

To top it all off, my sweet father also picked some muscadines for me. I was able to combine our harvest with his and made the most delectable muscadine jelly which we’ve been savoring on morning toast.

My heart warms and a smile fills my face as I think about the gift of the muscadine vine. It does not need to produce all year round to be valuable. It does not need to strain and overextend to add joy to my life, or to feed my family, or to nourish all the birds and critters who also enjoy its fruit.

The muscadine vine produces grapes for a few weeks out of the year. We wait patiently and eagerly for them. Out of the year’s fifty-two weeks, we can only harvest wild muscadines two or three of them. The other forty-nine weeks are simply for staying alive, which is largely a hidden and uncelebrated activity.

In a culture that primarily, if not exclusively, celebrates the production of fruit, it’s easy to feel like you’re falling behind if the focus of your life is on simply staying alive. We struggle to celebrate the hidden work of growing the roots of our lives into the healthy soils of community and connection with Creator. We struggle to celebrate the less fancy work of cultivating self-love and true joy. We live in a culture that says, “Share more fruit now! Produce more fruit now!” We manufacture entire systems to forcefully produce out-of-season, and then we wonder why we’re so exhausted and why creation itself is depleted.

This drive to produce in all seasons is inconsistent with what it means to be living, created beings. The drive to produce in all seasons does not serve us.

My question to you, and to myself, is what if we trusted the inherent seasonal fruitfulness of our nature and made peace with resting, and not forcing, productivity in our lives? What if we stopped doing activities to prove our worth, and instead trusted that if we’re not producing outward fruit then perhaps we’re growing deeply hidden roots and supporting healthy foliage and pollinating goodness in community with other created beings? What if we rested? What if we did less?

In doing less, our lives do not become less fruitful. In fact, doing less prepares us holistically to become fruitful in the unique and specific ways Creator intends. Like the muscadine vine, we produce the fruit we’re meant to in the season creation calls for it. We cease our striving and we trust the Sacred rhythms of being live.

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Today is September 1st and the air outside already feels softer. My entire body welcomes the ease of summer breaking.

As I clear my calendar and prepare for the fall, I am thankful for all the trees surrounding my home who are also preparing to shed some things. They too will be cutting back, strengthening their core, and growing their roots in this coming season. Wow, isn’t nature amazing.

My prayer for you—especially you anxious and achievement-oriented ones—is that you find the courage to stop trying to do it all. I pray your September begins with a gentle awareness of what you need to let go this fall, and in so doing, I hope you learn more about your rhythms of rest, care, and fruitfulness.

Until next time, friends.

Bethaney