By Kimberly Faye
“In the morning, as he was returning to the city, he became hungry. And seeing a fig tree by the
wayside, he went to it and found nothing on it but only leaves. And he said to it, ‘May no fruit
ever come from you again!’ And the fig tree withered at once.” — Matthew 21:18-19 ESV

Lately, I’ve been wondering: how many of our frustrations could be soothed if we simply
stopped to recognize what we’re really hungry for? Whether it’s rest, sleep, money, intimacy, or
the ache of belonging—what if we got honest about those deeper needs instead of pushing
through? What would that reveal?

For a moment, let’s imagine ourselves walking
alongside Jesus on this particular morning. He’s just left the temple where righteous anger
burned hot enough to overturn tables. And now, as the dust settles, hunger rises. Not just the kind
that gnaws at your stomach—but a deeper longing.

I can’t help but wonder—was Jesus
hungry for worship? For the kind of celebration that exists beyond earth’s boundaries? The kind
where angels, saints, and creation itself bow low, crying “Holy, Holy, Holy.” Maybe, just maybe,
his longing was pulling him homeward.

And then, there it was—a fig tree full of leaves,
promising fruit. But upon closer look… nothing. No fruit. No nourishment. Just the illusion of
abundance.

He spoke, not from petulance, but with authority: “May no fruit ever
come from you again.” The tree withered instantly.

This moment, so simple yet
stunning, isn’t really about Jesus being angry or vindictive. It’s about something deeper—about
confronting what looks good but produces nothing. About calling out the things in our lives that
take up space but feed us nothing.

I wonder… how many fig trees am I allowing to grow
in my life? How many things look the part, sound the part, even smell like the real thing—yet
leave me empty every time?

Maybe you’re wondering the same.

Jesus’s lesson
to the disciples wasn’t just about a tree. He wasn’t impressed by their shock. Instead, He
redirected their gaze:

“You think that was something? If you have
faith, you can tell this mountain to move—and it will.”

It’s not about
when things will change. It’s about if we’ll choose to believe.</ p>

So, here’s the question I’ve been sitting with:
What in my life is leafy but
fruitless? What takes up space but no longer serves the deeper work God is doing in me?</ strong>

And maybe even more pressing—what mountains have I allowed to loom large
simply because I’ve forgotten that faith has the power to move them?

I hear the whisper
of Jesus in this moment: “I don’t want your fruitless Christian talk. I want your faith. Real
faith that’s willing to see what isn’t working and release it. Real faith that speaks to mountains
with confidence that they must move.”

Maybe you need that invitation, too.

A Prayer for the Journey:

Lord Jesus, maker of heaven and earth,
Help me walk with You today,
hungry—for more of You, for Heaven, for what truly satisfies.
Show me the fig
trees I’ve allowed to remain—things that take up space but bear no fruit.
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