I Was Producing…Just Not Fruit

Somewhere along the way, I became convinced that if I just did enough, achieved enough, helped enough people, answered enough messages, volunteered enough, worked hard enough, became successful enough, healed enough, learned enough…

…then maybe I’d finally feel like enough.

Turns out exhaustion isn’t the same thing as fulfillment.

Who knew?

For years, I confused movement with progress. Productivity with purpose. Performance with significance.

I was incredibly busy.

I was also incredibly empty.

It’s funny how easy it is to look productive while quietly starving your soul.

I don’t think I was chasing greatness.

I think I was chasing acceptance.

If I could just become someone people admired…

Someone people needed…

Someone people applauded…

Then maybe I’d finally believe I was valuable.

The problem is, people make terrible gods.

Their approval expires faster than milk.

God’s doesn’t.

Matthew 20 records one of those moments in Scripture that almost makes you cringe because it’s so painfully human.

James and John. The disciples who had walked with Jesus, watched miracles, heard Him teach, witnessed the impossible, still misunderstood what greatness actually looked like.

Actually… Matthew tells us something even more interesting.

Their mom asked.

Matthew 20:20-21 (NIV)

“Then the mother of Zebedee’s sons came to Jesus with her sons and, kneeling down, asked a favor of him.

‘What is it you want?’ he asked.

She said, ‘Grant that one of these two sons of mine may sit at your right and the other at your left in your kingdom.’”

I don’t know what makes me laugh more.

The fact that grown men apparently brought their mother to negotiate for them…

Or the fact that if I’m honest, I’ve probably done the exact same thing spiritually.

“God… can I have the seat?”

Can I have influence?

Can I have impact?

Can I have the platform?

Can I have the opportunity?

Can I have what everyone else seems to have?

Jesus answered with one question.

Matthew 20:22 (NIV)

“You don’t know what you are asking… Can you drink the cup I am going to drink?”

That’s the part they missed.

They wanted the seat.

Jesus offered the cup.

Throughout the Old Testament, the cup represented suffering. It represented hardship. Refinement. The portion God assigned someone to carry.

Everyone wants influence.

Very few people want the process that produces someone capable of handling it.

The seat isn’t the problem.

The problem is wanting the seat without the cup.

I don’t think I’ve been much different.

There have been seasons where I wanted the outcome more than the obedience.

I wanted the impact more than the formation.

The platform more than the process.

The fruit more than the pruning.

And somewhere in all of that, I realized something uncomfortable.

I wasn’t always working hard because I loved God.

Sometimes I was working hard because I desperately wanted people to choose me.

To validate me.

To think I mattered.

To make me feel worthy.

That’s a brutal sentence to write.

It’s also freeing.

Because once God exposes the motive, He can heal it.

One of the biggest lies I’ve believed is that humility means thinking small.

That somehow Christians should avoid greatness.

Almost apologize for excellence.

Shrink back.

Blend in.

Be average.

But average isn’t holiness.

Mediocrity isn’t humility.

After all…

I’m made in the image of God.

The Creator of galaxies.

The Author of beauty.

The Inventor of creativity.

The One who does everything with excellence.

Why would the image bearer be created for mediocrity?

Jesus never told us not to be great.

He simply redefined greatness.

Matthew 20:26-28 (NIV)

“Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

Greatness isn’t sinful.

Selfish greatness is.

The goal isn’t to become less capable.

It’s to become less self-centered.

I’ve started realizing that God isn’t nearly as impressed with performance as I am.

He’s after fruit.

There’s a difference.

Performance asks…

“Did people notice me?”

Fruit asks…

“Did people experience Jesus?”

Performance is exhausting because it’s fueled by comparison.

Fruitfulness is peaceful because it’s fueled by connection.

John 15:8 (NIV)

“This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.”

Notice Jesus didn’t say produce activity.

He said produce fruit.

One can be manufactured.

The other can only be cultivated.

I’ve spent years being productive.

God has been teaching me to become fruitful.

Those are not the same thing.

Somewhere recently, something shifted inside of me.

Instead of asking God to bless my gifts…

I’ve started trying to give them back.

Because they were never really mine to begin with.

Some abilities are natural.

The things we’re simply born wired to do.

Some are acquired.

The wisdom we never would’ve learned if life hadn’t absolutely humbled us first.

The lessons pain forced us to learn.

The compassion suffering carved into us.

The resilience disappointment produced.

Then there are spiritual gifts.

Those moments where you can’t quite explain why something comes so naturally except to say…

God.

Those gifts don’t belong to me.

They’re His.

He’s simply trusting me with them for a little while.

That changes everything.

Because stewardship asks a different question than ambition.

Not…

“What can I build?”

But…

“Is God getting a return on His investment?”

Ouch.

That one sat with me for a while.

Because this blog?

These words?

The encouragement I get to offer?

None of it exists without the cup.

Without loss.

Without grief.

Without anxiety.

Without surgeries.

Without disappointments.

Without prayers that felt unanswered.

Without seasons that nearly broke me.

Without all the things I would’ve gladly skipped.

God has this incredible way of repurposing our past.

He took fishermen and made them fishers of men.

The patience I learned through waiting now helps me encourage someone else who’s still waiting.

The grief I survived now helps me sit beside someone else’s grief without trying to fix it.

The lessons failure taught me now become wisdom I couldn’t have learned any other way.

Nothing is wasted.

Not one tear.

Not one heartbreak.

Not one detour.

Not one disappointment.

He uses the skills developed in one season to serve another.

Life is lived forward.

But it’s almost always understood looking backward.

One detail I love is that Matthew records the mother asking for the seats.

But when Mark tells the story, James and John ask Jesus themselves.

Different perspectives.

Same lesson.

Yet what amazes me isn’t that they asked.

It’s that after Jesus said no…

They stayed.

Their relationship with Him wasn’t contingent upon getting the answer they wanted.

How many of us quietly walk away when God doesn’t give us the seat we asked for?

James and John didn’t.

They kept following.

They kept serving.

They kept learning.

Their commitment wasn’t conditional.

Mine has been at times.

“God, if You open this door…”

“If You answer this prayer…”

“If You fix this situation…”

“If You…”

Oof.

Real discipleship doesn’t negotiate.

It submits.

Philippians 2 tells us that Jesus, though equal with God, made Himself nothing by taking the nature of a servant.

That’s greatness.

Not demanding the highest seat.

Choosing the lowest one.

The beautiful irony is this:

The more I’ve tried to earn acceptance, the more exhausted I’ve become.

The more I’ve surrendered my gifts to God, the more everything seems to fall into place.

Not because life suddenly became easier.

But because my motives became simpler.

I’m no longer trying to prove I deserve a seat.

I’m simply learning to carry my cup well.

And maybe that’s what this blog has always been.

Not a collection of thoughts.

Not a platform.

Not content.

This is my cup.

These words were born from suffering, shaped through grace, refined by conviction, and offered back to the One who redeemed every single chapter.

If they encourage someone…

If they point one person toward Jesus…

If they remind one weary heart that God wastes absolutely nothing…

Then every ounce of the cup has been worth it.

Because greatness was never about where I sit.

It has always been about Who I serve.