To Be Fruit

For various reasons, I've been thinking lately about the worth and importance of a soul. Of course I've known since I was young (and I'm so grateful that I have!) that every person has worth as a child of God. But my teenage self had a little bit of a problem with that, since, as it says in The Incredibles, "If everyone is special, no one is." So if everyone is a child of God…how was I, personally, still important? 

For a while I felt like I had special talents or maybe special thoughts that other people didn't have. Or maybe I was less susceptible to certain problems. But the older I got, the more those reasons went away. Turns out there were lots of people more talented than me at…everything. Turns out, I had plenty of problems of my own, even some of the same ones I'd felt superior to other people for not having! I remember one specific instance when I was a young mother, reading the scripture "There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man" and thinking in some surprise "I really am just like everyone else. All the things I thought I wasn't going to struggle with, I do struggle with." With that realization, again teenage Marilyn's question resurfaced…what makes me special? If God has so many other children to love…why would he need me, specifically? Does he need me? I know I need Him but…what difference does it make if He has me?

In the twenty years since then, the importance of that question has faded for me. Honestly, I don't have much time to think about it anymore! And having children, raising children, has given me a lot more insight into possible answers. But recently as one of my children has been struggling with similar questions, it's made me revisit some of those old thoughts, and this time around I've been reading First Nephi and thinking about fruit.

If the Tree of Life is both Jesus Christ and the Love of God, the the fruit seems to be His love packaged in a form we can digest. What's the point of fruit? What's it for? I've had fruit trees. If the fruit isn't picked from the Tree of Life, it would eventually just fall off and rot! (I know, I know, God's love doesn't rot so the metaphor isn't perfect, but bear with me.) It seems to me that the whole point of fruit is to be eaten. That's certainly true of God's love. It is meant to bless people. It's meant to bring joy. It's meant to be shared. God's love, contained within only Himself, would (I imagine??) be useless. It only becomes fruitful in our lives, as we FEEL it, TASTE it, USE it—as it "sheds itself abroad" in our hearts. Jesus Christ's love for us bore fruit and became real, became operational in our lives, through His fruitful acts of love, especially His supreme act of love, His atonement.

The other (related) purpose of fruit, botanically speaking, is to make seeds. And God's love does that, too. It encourages love in us. It gives us something worth sharing. "We love Him because He first loved us." Because He loves us, we want to share His love with others.

The insight that came to me this time around is that this is what gives us worth: when, like God, we become fruit. Fruit to be "eaten" (?? too weird? ha!) by those around us. We are worthy of love because we're God's children, yes. We are special because He loves us, yes. But we become useful to Him as we become fruits of His love, bringing joy and sweetness and nourishment to others. This is why He gives us talents, it's why He gives us spiritual gifts. It's so we can join Him in His work of bearing love.

When I was younger, I wanted to be really good at something—talented—noticed. I didn't want to be famous, necessarily, but I wanted people to see and admire me for my running, or my piano playing, or my writing, or because I was a Rhodes Scholar [to be clear, I wasn't—just wanted to be], or some other impressive thing. And I don't think all of that impulse was bad! It got me to work really hard and try to excel. I learned to find satisfaction in improving myself even when I wasn't the best one. But my perspective shifted when I chose full-time motherhood and left that chase for "impressiveness" behind me. This isn't news to any of you parents, but children aren't impressed by anything! They don't know or care what your accomplishments are. They just need you to love them (and that simple task will take everything you have).

So why (teenage Marilyn would ask) does God even give us talents? If not to impress people? And if not to make us feel good about ourselves? "To bless others" seemed like kind of a lame answer back then. But I see now that it's the best answer—the only satisfying answer! Impressing people doesn't bring any joy. And being "the best" doesn't bring joy either (partly because most people never are…but even if you win Olympic Gold or become a famous author or whatever you dreamed of…the thrill of accomplishment fades in time). But sharing God's love does bring joy, and the joy lasts! I've felt it so often as I've raised my children. Teaching them is joyful. Talking to them is joyful. Making them happy is joyful. Loving them is joyful! And seeing them love me back is the most joyful of all. 

That brings me back to my first question. What good am I to God? When might I actually bring joy to Him rather than just being one of the many beneficiaries of all He gives us? I think it's when I become fruit—when I become an embodiment of His love. I think he needs me because His love can take new shape through me. Through the combination of gifts, talents, and personality that God gave me, combined with what I choose to do to develop those gifts, I can bless others in ways no one else can. When His love bears fruit in me—and I then share that love with those I love—I am useful to Him! 

I'm not sure I'm explaining this very well. Of course I know God loves me even when I don't do anything, don't deserve anything—I'm His child and He loves me. And I guess, in some way, I'm "special" to Him like my children are all special to me just by existing and being who they are. But that answer didn't satisfy me when I was younger, and this one does. I have gifts so I can share them, and in the sharing of them they become true accomplishments—true contributions—not just ways to feed my ego or impress someone—but things that truly bring more light and love into the world. Not only does Heavenly Father "need me" to help do His work and share His love (not "need me" in the sense that He couldn't do it without me—but in the sense that there would be a real and perceptible loss if I didn't contribute my unique gifts)—but just as Jesus found his ultimate joy and purpose in His sacrifice and gifts for us, so I will find ultimate joy, meaning, and purpose in my sacrifices and gifts for others. It's not what the world would teach. But it's true. 

A few months ago I played the piano for a musical number at a funeral. I didn't know the lady who had died; she was a relative of the friend I was accompanying. She had been an accomplished pianist herself, and also a teacher and mother, and as I listened to the talks about her I found myself wanting to play my very best just to honor her and to comfort her family. I prayed all through the funeral that our music could somehow bring a spirit of comfort and peace and love. And then when it came time to play, it was one of those rare occasions where everything is right. It was transcendent—otherworldly—I don't have words to describe it, but the singing, the music, it all came together and the congregation felt it. My friend and I certainly felt it. Angelic visitors, maybe. People were crying as they talked to us after, thanking us for—whatever had happened. I felt shaky and weak afterwards. I went out and sat in the car and thought, "There are famous artists probably giving concerts today all around the world. Someone is playing with a symphony. Someone is playing in Carnegie Hall. But I'm positive that there was no performance on earth today as powerful as this one, at a little church in a suburb of Salt Lake City, at a funeral for a lady who most people have never heard of. And I got to be part of that. Why?"

I don't know why, but I think it's because that's what it's all about. That's what my gifts are for. That's what I am for. That's how I bear fruit, and that's why God needs me—to "shed His love abroad in the hearts of the children of men" in the ways only I can.