The Lonely Fig
It was on a hike in South Africa this summer that I first saw the fig tree growing out of a wall of the river gorge, at least 50 feet above where we were walking. If it was a wonder to see a fully grown tree clinging to a sheer cliff, it was even more marvelous to see its root system following the fissures in the rock all the way down to the water below. It didn’t seem to fit up there, this lonely fig tree high above our heads, yet there it was almost defying gravity.
It was weeks and even months later that I found my thoughts returning to the image of the tree and my mind began to draw parallels between it and my own experience. As an immigrant, I have often felt that I am out of place, that I don’t really fit in, or that I’m fighting to survive in a less than favorable environment. I imagined the tree asking itself similar questions to those I ponder: Who am I? How did I end up here? Where do I belong?
Love and belonging are irreducible needs for all people.
Identity and belonging are two concepts I have spent most of my adult life wrestling. On reflection, however, I realize it started long before leaving my home country when I was a sensitive, introverted young girl trying to find my place in the world. If, like social scientists are telling us, love and belonging are irreducible needs for all people, then I spent most of my childhood trying to get them met; whether through striving to get the attention and approval of my parents, or presenting only the parts of me I felt were acceptable to my peers. I became an expert at observing people and situations, constantly evaluating how to behave in order to fit in.
This skill served me well when we moved too, first to London and then to America. We did all the right things to fit in: joined a church, got involved at the kids’ schools, decorated our house like the neighbors did for the holidays. What I found, though, was that all our efforts at being accepted were poor substitutes for belonging - something I was always left craving and something that felt more elusive the longer we stayed away, so that even when we returned ‘home’ to South Africa it was hard to find. Belonging became a play on words for me: a longing to be seen and known, to be my most authentic self without the fear of judgement or rejection. Like the fig tree, I felt like I was sending out roots in all directions, recklessly hoping at least one of them would find connection in a safe place to keep me tethered.
All the while, the river whispered…
It was then that I remembered the river in the image meandering far below where the fig tree was growing. The river had probably been there for centuries, patiently carving the rock to form the gorge we were hiking in. It had most likely witnessed the bird who dropped the seed into some fertile soil on the cliff, watched how the rain and sun had nurtured the seed into a sapling, heard the winds that howled and hurled insults at the tree trying to dislodge it, only causing it to cling even tighter. All the while the river whispered to the tree to send its roots downward, in faith, to its true source of life.
Suddenly it became clear to me that this was an image of true belonging. We are seen and known by the One who goes before us and is with us, and who promises to never leave or forsake us. Yes, there is value in belonging to a group, finding a place to call home, or people to call your own. But it starts with finding our roots in our life-source: our life-giving God who offers us His presence as He patiently watches us grow and struggle and grow again, etching our way closer to Him. He is the source of my identity, the antidote to my loneliness, and the resting place for my need to belong.
“Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.” - Colossians 2:7