He who tends a fig tree will eat its fruit (Proverbs 27:18)

I love figs. When I was a girl my stepfather and I had an understanding. Fig newtons were the symbol in our limited lexicon for "I'm sorry." When he wanted to apologize for some parental misstep, he bought me my own pack to eat and enjoy.

I didn't know then that the cookie portion of the treat was not part of the fig. I saw it as one entity. The fig newton.

A little later I got it. The thick, sensual layer of goo was the fig. It stood to reason. That is the best part of that concoction.

As an adult I've had the great fortune to eat at restaurants that serve wonderfully appealing plates with sumptuous sauces--fig reductions, balsamic glazes, and the like. But I had yet to eat a dried fig, all by its lonesome, until a few days ago. I ate almost the entire bag of them in the space of three days. And now I'm on my second bag, and I cannot get enough of the poetically named Black Mission Fig.

The scripture that functions as the title of this post has always meant a lot to me. It's part of the lexicon I share with God where his promises to me are concerned. Several years ago now I poured my heart out to him about a specific fear of mine. The fear of always having to sacrifice, of always having to sow what someone else would reap. And that is the scripture I came across as I was praying.

Literally, figs are mine in abundance. And I'm certain that the metaphoric, symbolic answer he was giving me in that passage is in no way undermined because he has also chosen to fulfill the literal implication. He's such a poet, creating both tenor in vehicle in one fell swoop.