When the trunk of a banana tree is chopped off, the rings form a pattern of intricately constructed cells circling around each other in a spiral of interdependence. I can’t tear my gaze away from the white-green interlocking fibers that glisten with sweet, clear sap. As the remains of the trunks are chopped up, they are placed in neat rows through the banana grove so that their decomposition will result in rich, black soil the color of chocolate cake.
In all my daydreams of international missions, I never came here, to this banana farm thriving under the shadow of a volcano; I never came to REAP, the ministry we live at; and honestly, I never came to Nicaragua. I picked up a remnant of a trunk, still glossy from being freshly toppled, and placed it in line with the other pieces. Its poetic to watch as death inspires life, as living things thrive only at the precious expense of dying things. “Strengthen what remains,” I think as I observe the intricacy of my surroundings. What remains are the living banana trees that form a canopy above me, shading me from the dry Nicaraguan sun. What strengthens them is the death of their fellow banana trees.
My life recently has consisted of a lot of dying. Death of relationships, death of myself, death of unrealistic expectations. I left the Dominican Republic feeling the death clinging to my skin, since many things that had once belonged to me were cut off. These severed parts had to be abandoned, as packing them for Nicaragua in my 40 pound backpack would exceed the weight limit the airline enforced. Arriving here, I instantly stumbled upon something I had been praying to discover. Peace. Rest. I was refreshed by waking up to see the sunrise, spending the day in the Word, and being sung to sleep by the lullabies of the Nicaraguan stars. “Strengthen what remains,” they whispered to me. What remained was my faith. What remained was His love towards me. What remained was a grove of His tender mercies that have matured into attributes I am empowered to display every day for the glory of Him. And lining the rows of my grove were the dismantled trunks of the things He chose to remove for the purpose of my sanctification. I had clung to those branches pridefully, and cried in pain when they were dislocated, but now, I watch as they decompose into fertilizer for the good of the garden.
This is what I’m trying to say. In the process of growth, the Lord removes that which He knows is not useful, and those parts die. But the death of certain extremities are repurposed as catalysts for new growth. I’m not trying to say that the purpose of our life is simply to grow. I believe that the purpose of our existence to worship the Lord. But the Father, in His infinite kindness, causes growth through suffering in order that our worship might be magnified, and thus, we are given the opportunity to better fulfill our purpose. And what are we told to do as our counterparts are repurposed? “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me.” (John 15:4) We are told to ABIDE, not to strive. We are instructed to live, play, work, and rest while we live on the vine of the Lord, constantly connected to Him. 1 John 4:11-12 says, “Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has either seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and His love is perfected in us.” God’s love is perfected when we practice it. We are enabled to practice it only through the nutrients the vine provides, when we abide in Him. To strengthen what remains has everything to do with abiding. The Lord cuts off the branches that bear no fruit, as we abide. The Lord fertilizes the soil, as we abide. And the Lord watches us grow into humans experienced in the art of worshipping, because we have abided in Him.
The banana grove thrives because the farmers know to fertilize the soil with the dead trunks. We thrive because, as the garden of the Lord, the death of our idols, sin, and pride is used to richen the ground for extended growth. He desires that we become mature and fruitful, so that He might walk through His garden and enjoy the fruit of His grace. It was always His grove to tamper with, so allow Him to do so, stretching your branches to Him in determination, submitting to His just authority despite the current pain. Use the corpses of your unfruitful branches to strengthen what remains.
