A beam of light pierced through a small hole in the tent right onto the farmer’s tired face, warming his cheek. There was so much dust in the beam’s path that it almost looked like you could reach out and grab the light.
The farmer rubbed his eyes sleepily and then stretched out his arms and legs, cracking his back in the process. And then, sitting up on his bed, he clasped his hands together, closed his eyes and sat in silence. For an extended period of time he spoke not a word—he simply sat there. One might have been convinced that he had somehow fallen back asleep in that position, but that was not the case. It was clear from the way his eyes shifted around under his eyelids and the occasional deep breaths he took that he was quite awake.
After an hour had passed, he opened his mouth saying, “Alright Father. I will offer him your water today.” (Luke 6:12–13) And with that, he rose to his feet and walked across the sandy ground to the corner of the tent to get his wooden bucket.
The sky at Lovetree Farms was a beautiful bright blue that spring day. The farmer smiled as he treaded the long orchard towards the well on the other side, the tree branches waving in the mild breeze around him. He whistled along with the chorus of morning birds and a bluejay landed on his shoulder to join with him.
“How are you this morning little friend?” greeted the farmer.
The bird chirped back in what sounded like an attempt at a response.
“Really? You’re going to teach your son to fly today?” asked the farmer. “Dear bluejay, you and your kind never cease to amaze me. Here we are just getting over a long winter and none of you have come to me worried about finding food or about any other matter. Instead you simply share with me the blessings in your life and in doing so, bless me also! Your spirits are always up even when you have reason to complain!” (Matthew 6:26)
If birds can blush, that most certainly was what the bluejay did. The farmer pulled a sunflower seed out of his pocket and placed it on his shoulder. “Don’t change my friend. There is never any need to be anxious about tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is anxious enough for itself. There’s enough trouble to deal with today, yes?” (Matthew 6:34)
The bird speedily ate the sunflower seed and chirped happily in the farmer’s ear.
“Yes, as one writer once said, ’tomorrow will be certain to bring worse than today, for many days to come. And there is nothing that I can do to help it.’” (Gandalf)
The bird stopped its happy chirping and did what resembled a double-take. The farmer stopped walking as the bird leaned forward to make eye contact with him. The farmer’s eyes slowly moved towards the bird and a smile cracked on the his face as he began to laugh one of those deep belly-laughs.
“Come, my feathery friends!” he shouted into the orchard. “Come be rewarded for your trust in my Father’s provision!” The farmer reached into his pockets and pulled out fistfuls of sunflower seeds, throwing them into the air with a big smile on his face. Birds flew from the branches all around, flocking to the farmer’s feet. The seed was gone in a matter of seconds.
“Oh, you’re all hungry I see!” exclaimed the farmer. “Don’t worry, my Father likes to feast!” He reached back into his pocket and pulled out an impossible amount of seeds, throwing them all across the ground in front of him. “Eat up friends, eat up! The last thing I need is to weed sunflowers out of this orchard all summer.”
The farmer carefully stepped around the hundreds of birds, as an amazing amount of seeds fell out of his pockets with every step. The birds were so satisfied with their meal that they didn’t even see him leave.
Well, all that is but for one bird. The bluejay that had landed on his shoulder fluttered onto a branch at the farmer’s eye-level. Two other bluejays hopped out of a nest at the end of the branch and joined him.
“Oh, hello again,” smiled the farmer.
The bird’s demeanor changed as he chirped something that only the farmer seemed to understand.
“My dear friend,” started the farmer, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier that your son’s wing was broken? Surely you didn’t want him to try to fly today like this?”
The baby bluejay looked down in shame. He was a bird after all, he was meant for the skies!
The farmer leaned in close to the baby bird. “Do you wish to be healed?” he asked.
The bird shook his head.
“Then get up, take to the skies and fly,” said the farmer, a warm smirk spreading out across his face. (John 5:7)
At once, the baby bird leapt off the branch. His parents chirped in fear and closed their eyes, but they never heard him hit the ground. The farmer turned around to see him soaring across the open sky, landing on branches and taking off as immediately as he had touched them. The farmer laughed another one of his loud belly-laughs as the baby bird chirped in excitement, gaining the attention of all the other birds in the orchard. Never had their been such celebration amidst the birds before. The mother and father bird jumped onto the farmer’s shoulders and rubbed their faces against his neck in appreciation.
“Oh there, there,” gushed the farmer as the birds flew off into the distance to catch up with their son. They were so happy that they forgot to eat any of the sunflower seeds. (Acts 3:6–8)
Awhile later, the farmer arrived at the well. It stood right in front of an old rugged tree, next to the wagon he had left there the night before. He pulled his big wooden bucket off of his shoulder and tied it to the well’s crank and lowered it down. When the bucket was full, he rolled up his sleeves and put all of his strength into pulling it back up.
The farmer cupped his hands, filled them with water from the bucket, and took a generous sip. “Mm…” he sighed as a gopher popped up out of the ground. He wagged his finger at the gopher and said, “There truly is no water like this water. Why some choose to get drunk with wine compared to this, I’ll never know. I myself will continue to be filled with this (Ephesians 5:18).” The gopher wasn’t sure what to do with that statement so he quietly lowered himself back into his hole.
The farmer looked back towards the orchard and said, “And perhaps he will drink it too.”
At that moment an ox trotted up to him. “Hello old friend!” The farmer greeted him, petting his head. “Have you come to help me with my work again?”
The ox put one foot forward and bowed his head.
“You know, you’re a much gentler and humbler creature than your horns suggest,” he said.
The ox bit a rope connected to the wagon, backed himself up in front of it, and waited to be attached.
“Well you’re ready to go, aren’t you?”
The ox’s tail wagged excitedly like a dog’s.
The farmer chuckled and then grunted loudly as he grabbed the rope handles of the wooden bucket, carrying it from the well wall to the back of the wagon. He then walked up to the ox and attached the yoke.
“I too am gentle and humble,” the farmer whispered in the ox’s ear. “You work hard friend. Today this yoke will be easy on you and bring you rest. I know you expect the work we do to be burdensome, but as you do it with me, it will become light.” (Matthew 11:28–30) When he had said these words, the farmer knocked three times on the yoke and flowers sprouted up across the old splintered wood. The ox made a joyous noise and calmly began to tread the long orchard in sync with the farmer’s direction.
“Alright friend,” said the farmer. “You can take a break, we’re here now.”
The farmer removed the yoke off of the ox and the ox quietly laid down and fell asleep.
The wagon had stopped in front of one of the apple trees in the orchard. It looked a little livelier than many of the other trees surrounding it. It couldn’t have been more than 25 years old, yet its branches stuck out further than the surrounding trees and it was budding before all the rest.
The farmer put his hand on the tree’s trunk. “Hello friend,” he said. “It has been wonderful to watch you grow these past years. I remember when my father knit you together—when you were just a seed (Psalm 139:13). And now here we are years later and your destiny still awaits you, for you were born for such a time as this.” (Esther 4:14)
The farmer continued, “So far in your life, you have not seen me, for you have been a simple apple tree. What ability do you have to be conscious of things outside of soil, sun and water? But as I have watched you grow, it has become clear that you have picked up on my presence and direction in some shape or form. For I have come to talk with you often and have taken great care of you.”
The farmer walked back to his wagon and grunted again as he lifted the bucket of water off the back. He placed it in front of the apple tree and leaned over to catch his breath.
“I have labored hard over you these past 15 years, though you have not entirely known it. I have built fences around you to protect you. During a drought, I watered you. When you were younger and the fire blight overtook your branches, I worked hard to bring you back to full health. When you grew too many apples to support your small branches, I relieved you of them. And when the weight of your trunk began to tilt you over, I straightened you back into the ground.”
“I’m adamant about serving you, for my Father finds you to be of supreme worth and wishes you—like all of your brothers and sisters here—to be taken care of. I do only what I see my Father doing, (John 5:19) and today my father is reaching out to you, inviting you to become something new. Everything you know of being an apple tree will pass away, and a new life will come upon you, if you accept my invitation.” (2 Corinthians 5:17)
The farmer put his hand back on the tree’s trunk and closed his eyes and was silent. The tension was palpable. You could sense that there was really some kind of magic in the air—that all it would take was a word or action from the farmer to activate it.
The farmer opened his eyes and quietly said, “I have talked with my Father and have already paid the price necessary for you to access this new life I’ve been talking about. I know you can’t talk, but this decision goes deeper than words. If you decide to make it, I will know and will freely give you this new life.”
“But you should also know: if you accept, you will have to follow me so that I can teach you more fully what this life looks like. Then you too, will be able to teach others.” The farmer paused and took a deep breath. “Do you accept the invitation?”
The magic was so full now that the whole orchard must have felt it, for the entire land fell silent. The farmer once again closed his eyes as though listening intently to the quietness. And then something must have happened. The tree must have responded somehow, someway, because a huge smile stretched across the farmer’s face.
“Then receive it,” he said. He reached into the bucket and a scar in the center of his once broken hand opened up, releasing a small amount of blood into the water (Matthew 26:26–28). As he pulled his hand back out the scar miraculously closed up. In that moment, two clouds appeared in the bright blue sky and crashed into each other, causing incredibly loud thunder (or was it a voice?) (John 12:28–29) to echo across the farm. It immediately started to downpour on the tree. The farmer tilted the bucket over, covering the ground all around the tree. He then backed away out of the rain to watch.
The tree gasped loudly. He leaned forward, his branches stretching across the ground like fingers, scraping the grass right out of the dirt. He pulled his extensive roots out of the ground and fell on his face. There he lay, convulsing as all of his branches and roots began to wrap around each other forming new arms and legs. The change was violent and tense and the tree cried out as it continued. But then as swiftly as it had started, it was done. The tree was left lying on the ground in the fetal position with a large wooden body that could now move around.
The farmer slowly approached the new species of tree with that warm smile on his face. “My Father has washed you clean with rain from Heaven and I have poured out living water on you that will make you never thirst again and bring you into eternal life (John 4:14).”
“Living… water?” the tree groaned through the new mouth on his trunk. He was still adjusting to the change. “I think… I can feel it inside of me.”
“It?” questioned the farmer. “Certainly you can feel it. It will always be there with you now. It is what makes you the new creation you are. But like all living things, it has a name. In fact, He has carried many names, but you will know him as The Fruitful One.”
“The Fruitful One,” the tree said aloud, soaking it in. “My lips tingle when I say His name out loud.”
“Indeed,” replied the farmer. “He is as sacred as they come. All sins will be forgiven in this world except the blasphemies against him (Mark 3:28–29). If you’re lucky, that tingle will remain on your lips as a safeguard.”
The farmer drew closer to the tree and placed his hand on his shoulder. The tree let go of his knees and straightened out from the fetal position. He laid on his back and looked up at the sky for the first time.
“It’s so beautiful,” said the tree.
“Isn’t it?” replied the farmer. “The Fruitful One made it all, you know. The sky; the earth; the stars; the waters; the creatures; the trees; all of it.” The farmer stared off into the distance for a moment to take it all in. “That being said, it’s really no shock that He would create something new out of you. Creation is His speciality.”
He looked at the tree and smiled. The tree looked into the farmer’s loving eyes and attempted to smile back, but he was still new to the whole process. It was like watching a baby learn to smile. He shaped his lips in a way that made you think he was maybe catching on, but then his face fell back into an unenthused state.
The farmer laughed. “You may be a 25 year old apple tree, but you’re just an infant Lovetree.” (1 Corinthians 3:1)
“Lovetree?” questioned the apple tree, still playing with his facial muscles in attempts to smile.
“Yes,” replied the farmer. “It’s what your new state is called. You’re not the first tree to drink the water I gave you today. There are many more that have already accepted my invitation. They are all Lovetrees like you, regardless if they are apple trees or pear trees or male or female.” (Galatians 3:28–29)
“And what do Lovetrees do?” asked the tree.
“Follow me mostly,” replied the farmer.
“Where?” asked the tree as he sat up.
“That you know where I’m going is not the point,” he answered. “That you follow me regardless, is.”
The tree was confused. “The Fruitful One will allow me to follow you that blindly?” he asked.
“My dear friend,” started the farmer, patting the tree’s shoulder, “the living water you drank today which is The Fruitful One flows out of my very heart (John 7:38–39). You could not have received Him if you had not received me. I will never lead you a direction that The Fruitful One wouldn’t. We are all headed to the same place.”
“This is all so much to take in,” said the apple tree, putting his new hands into the ground behind him in attempts to stand up. “Ouch!” he hissed as he rose to his feet. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Everything really hurts!”
“That is normal for a new Lovetree,” said the farmer. “In order to become a new creation you must die to your old self and ways of life (Ephesians 4:22–24), so yeah, you should definitely be feeling it right now. And as you keep growing as a Lovetree, you’ll find there is plenty more of your old life that you’ll need to strip off along the way.”
“Will it hurt those times too?” asked the tree.
“Death always hurts my friend,” answered the farmer. “But it is appropriate. And it often takes time—even a lifetime for some—but it’s worth it.”
“But then what if I return to my old ways of life?” asked the tree.
The farmer looked intently at the ground. “We will never give up on you if you do. We have called you into this new life for a reason and we will now and forevermore call you to it. But if you start to live like an apple tree again, then an apple tree you will become.”
The air grew cold for a moment. Each of the farmer’s words carried a certain weight with it. The whole orchard could feel it. But then the farmer perked up and the mild breeze returned.
“You need a name!” he said, sounding quite excited to try some out. The tree raised his eyebrow, which was really just a piece of conveniently placed bark. “How about Ferdinand?” he asked.
The tree puckered his lips in a way that communicated he wasn’t too fond of the idea, though he was afraid to let the farmer down.
“No?” the farmer laughed. “Don’t worry, I always thought that was a hilarious-sounding name! I would never actually name someone that! Hm… Let’s see,“ he pondered. ”How about Pomegranate?”
The tree wasn’t sure how to respond to that one.
“Oh come on now!” laughed the farmer. “I’m kidding! I’m not going to have an apple tree walking around named Pomegranate! Besides, we’ve actually had a name chosen for you since before you were planted.”
“Oh?” said the tree. “What is it?”
“Millo,” he answered.
“Millo,” the tree whispered to himself. “I like that.”
“Good! Now let’s stretch those new legs of yours and head to Lovetree Village where others like you are staying.”
The farmer led the way whistling a catchy hymn with a hop in his step. The orchard was quite large and much of the day had been spent traversing it and bringing Millo to life. The sun was now beginning to go down, setting the sky ablaze with oranges, pinks and blues. Millo opened his new eyes as wide as he could to absorb it all in. After awhile, he opened his mouth to interrupt the farmer’s whistling as politely as possible.
“Excuse me for interrupting your song Mr. Farmer, but what does Millo mean?”
“Fullness!” exclaimed the farmer. “And so you will live up to your new name!”
“Fullness?” asked the tree. “Fullness of what?”
The farmer laughed. “Fullness of questions perhaps! But I suppose that makes sense given the circumstances. In this case, it means fullness in fruit-bearing.”
“Like apples?” asked Millo.
“Sort of,” answered the farmer. “But this is a different kind of fruit—The Fruitful One’s fruit.”
“But I’m an apple tree,” replied Millo. “Is his fruit different than apples?”
“It is!” said the farmer. “But in your new state you can grow it if you desire to. And who better to illustrate The Fruitful One’s fruit than a fruit tree himself!”
“But why me in particular?” asked the tree as he stepped cautiously over a squirrel that was gaping at his incredible height.
“Well, technically bearing The Fruitful One’s fruit is the destiny of all Lovetrees. But as we’ve watched you grow, we’ve had this hope that you might demonstrate that fruit more fully than the rest of the Lovetrees,” said the farmer.
“See, the others really need a boost. Apathy and complacency is a strong wall and many of the other trees can’t seem to break it down. But if we can find just one Lovetree that will grow all The Fruitful One’s fruit passionately and adamantly, then the others will see and desire it too. We believe you have that passion in you Millo.”
“Well I do enjoy growing fruit,” said Millo.
“We’ve never seen anything quite like you in an apple tree your age,” said the farmer. “The eyes of my Father run to and fro throughout the whole garden to give strong support to those whose heart is blameless toward him (2 Chronicles 16:9). As far as being a good apple tree is concerned, you were blameless. Do you think you are you capable of being just as good of a Lovetree?”
“I hope so,” replied Millo. “But what all do I have to grow?”
“Oh, just a few things,” started the farmer, “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” The farmer gazed up at Millo and found an overwhelmed facial expression. “But don’t worry, maturity and fullness requires time (Ephesians 4:13)! We don’t expect you to grow an entire fruit overnight.”
As the farmer finished this statement, he and Millo had reached the gate of Lovetree Village. The farmer walked in and yelled into the courtyard. “Hello friends!” Stomping and rumbling came from all directions as a group of about 50 Lovetrees gathered around the farmer. Millo stayed behind the gate, too shy to come in just yet.
“I’d like to introduce you to a new Lovetree tonight!” proclaimed the farmer. “His name is Millo!” The trees clapped and cheered loudly, shaking the ground.
“Now I’m sure most of you remember what your first night was like in Lovetree Village—you were all still adapting to your new bodies, ways of life and really, existence in general. That being said, please make sure Millo is comfortable and welcomed with the same warmth that you desired on your first night. Love him as you love yourself (Mark 12:31).” The farmer then turned around to tell Millo goodnight, but he saw sadness on his face and was filled with compassion for him.
“I’m afraid,” Millo said.
The farmer grabbed Millo’s giant hand and led him into the courtyard. “Remember, The Fruitful One flows out of me and into you. Therefore, if you need to reach me, I’m right here,” the farmer said pointing to Millo’s heart. He then turned and yelled to a tall Lovetree off in the distance. “Hey Ferdinand!”
“Yes boss?” replied a low voice from a tall tree.
“You’re specifically in charge of making sure Millo is taken special care of at every step,” he told him.
“You got it boss,” Ferdinand said giving the farmer a thumbs up.
“See you soon buddy,” said the farmer as Millo walked towards the large tree.
“So your name is Ferdinand, huh?” said Millo.
“Yeah, hilarious right?” he answered. “I think the boss meant it as a joke, but I just went with it.”
“No, no,” said Millo. “I’m sure he takes that name very seriously.” Millo turned around to see the farmer slapping his leg and laughing. He then waved to Millo and headed back towards his tent.
A few hours later, Millo got over his anxiety and laughed, ate and played with the others. After a long night of getting to know the Lovetree community, he went and found himself a cozy spot to lie down and stare at the stars before falling asleep in the lush grass.
He of course had never seen stars before. The wonder of it all consumed him. The same Fruitful One who had hung those stars in place now lived inside of him. And the evolution he had gone through that day from a simple apple tree to a Lovetree wasn’t the end of his story—there was more. In fact, after 25 years of being alive, he sensed that this was just the beginning of the real story of his life.
And perhaps, starting tomorrow, he would begin that new story and see what The Fruitful One had for him.