Not Just Gifted, But Grown

The slow, hidden work of the Spirit that gifts can never replace

Dear Abba, I know You give gifts, but do I want fruit?

You give gifts without hesitation.

You breathe on dust and dreams awaken.

You touch a heart and words flow like rivers.

You choose ordinary people

and fill them with extraordinary power.

And I love it.

I love the wonder.

I love being used.

I love the weight of glory on my lips,

on my hands,

on my name.

But fruit…

Fruit doesn’t fall from the sky.

It grows slow.

In silence.

In dying.

Fruit comes when the lights go off.

When no one is clapping.

When I stay instead of striving,

when I yield instead of rushing ahead.

You’ve gifted me, God

but I can feel You calling me

deeper.

Not higher.

Not louder.

Deeper.

To root, not roam.

To become, not just perform.

To sit in the quiet where

You’re not asking me to do,

but to be.

Because gifts can fill stages.

But fruit fills the secret places.

And I’ve had enough of being impressive.

I want to be real.

I want to be Yours.

I want to bear fruit that outlasts applause

fruit that doesn’t rot in storms,

fruit that tastes like patience,

joy,

gentleness,

self-control.

Not borrowed strength.

Not public fire with private ash.

But fruit that proves

I have been with You.

So prune me if You must.

Strip the gifted leaves

if they hide the rot.

Break the branches

if that’s what it takes

to grow what will remain.

Let my life be more than

something You once used.

Let it be something

You now abide in.

Because I’m tired, Abba.

Tired of the pressure to perform.

Tired of chasing visibility

while neglecting my roots.

Tired of mistaking being gifted

for being healthy.

I’ve clung to compliments

when I should have clung to the cross.

I’ve craved affirmation

more than transformation.

And You, in Your mercy,

kept whispering:

Fruit, not just gifts.

Gifts can come in a moment,

but fruit requires a lifetime.

And I think I’m finally ready

for the slow way.

Ready to stay

when You say “be still.”

Ready to return

to the hidden place

where the oil is pressed,

where the branches are pruned,

where the fruit begins.

Because I know now

You’re not only impressed by how gifted I am.

You’re drawn to how surrendered I am.

And I want to be known in heaven

not just for what I did,

but for how I loved.

For how I waited.

For how I bore fruit

when no one was watching.

So Holy Spirit,

search me.

Expose every place

where I’ve chosen performance over Presence,

activity over abiding,

gifts over fruit.

And if You must strip me

strip me to bear more.

Not for my name,

but for Yours.

Not for applause,

but for abundance

in the Spirit.

Let the fruit of my life

testify louder than my gifts ever could.

Let love be louder than my sermons.

Let patience outlive my platforms.

Let gentleness outshine my gifting.

Let self-control be my strength,

not stage lights or spiritual pride.

I don’t just want to be gifted.

I want to be Yours.

Yours in the quiet.

Yours in the waiting.

Yours when no doors open,

when no one sees,

when the fruit is still forming.

Because fruit doesn’t grow to be admired.

It grows to be eaten.

To nourish.

To feed.

To serve.

And maybe that’s the real test

not how many people are amazed by me,

but how many are refreshed

by the way I love.

Let my life whisper “Abba”

even when no one’s around to hear it.

Let the fruit of the Spirit

grow in me like wild grace

untamed by fear,

unbothered by praise,

unshaken by delay.

Love.

Joy.

Peace.

Patience.

Kindness.

Goodness.

Faithfulness.

Gentleness.

Self-control.

Let these be my legacy.

Let these be my light.

Let these be the fragrance

of a life fully rooted in You.

Not just useful

beautiful.

Not just gifted,

formed.

Not just seen,

Known.

Abba,

I’ve chased the spotlight,

but I’m returning to the soil.

Make me more than a vessel for gifts

make me a dwelling place for fruit.

Teach me to love Your pruning.

Help me delight in the slow,

hidden work of becoming.

Let the roots go deep.

Let the fruit be sweet.

Let the life I live in You

speak louder than any gift

I could ever hold in my hands.

Amen.

Forever,

Your friend who’s learning and becoming

@afriendshipletter

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