This past week, we marked Tu BiShvat here in Israel — the Feast of the Trees. The day itself has already passed, but its message does not disappear with the calendar. In many ways, Tu BiShvat is a feast meant to linger. It invites reflection, patience, and a long view of life with God.
Throughout the land, people planted trees. Children pressed soil around fragile saplings. Families paused to remember that growth is something we receive, not something we control. A tree is planted not for immediate benefit, but for the future — often for people we will never meet. This alone makes tree-planting a deeply spiritual act. It assumes continuity. It assumes faithfulness. It assumes that life will continue beyond what we can see.
Scripture consistently uses trees to speak about people, about righteousness, about fruitfulness, and about responsibility. A tree is never rushed in the Bible. It grows slowly, steadily, according to the design God placed within it. Roots first. Strength next. Fruit last. The order matters.
Tu BiShvat reminds us that God’s way of working is usually hidden before it is visible.
What makes this feast especially striking is when it occurs. Tu BiShvat comes in winter, not spring. The fields do not look hopeful. Branches are bare. Growth is not obvious. If we judged only by appearances, we might assume the land is resting — or worse, lifeless. And yet, this is precisely the moment when something has already shifted.
In Israel, the almond tree quietly tells that story. While everything else still appears dormant, it begins to blossom. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Simply faithfully. Before fruit, before leaves, before fullness — there is a sign that life has resumed. Something is happening beneath the surface.
This pattern is not accidental. It reflects how God often works with us.
Many of us find ourselves in seasons that feel like winter. We pray, but answers seem delayed. We remain faithful, but change feels slow. We do what God has asked of us, yet the outcome remains unseen. It is easy in these seasons to conclude that nothing is happening — that our prayers have stalled, or that growth has stopped.
But Tu BiShvat gently confronts that assumption.
God does not wait for visible fruit before He begins His work. Most of what He does first is hidden. He strengthens what cannot be seen. He deepens what must exist before fruit can be sustained. What looks like stillness is often preparation.
This is where Scripture gives us perspective.
In Deuteronomy we read, “For the tree of the field is man’s food.” A tree grows not for itself alone, but to give life. In the same way, God’s work in us is never isolated. What He forms in us is meant to sustain others — through wisdom, patience, compassion, faith, and endurance.
That means even waiting seasons are purposeful. They shape us into people who can carry fruit responsibly. They teach us dependence. They quiet our urgency. They align us with God’s timing rather than our own.
Yeshua describes the Kingdom of God in similar terms. He speaks of seed scattered into the ground — seed that grows day and night, quietly, without explanation. “The seed sprouts and grows, he himself does not know how.” Growth does not require our constant awareness to be real. God is not limited by what we can measure or feel.
This is especially meaningful as we enter Shabbat.
Shabbat calls us to stop striving. To cease measuring. To rest from forcing outcomes. It reminds us that creation itself depends on God’s faithfulness, not our effort. When Shabbat follows Tu BiShvat, the message deepens: trust the process, and rest while God works.
You may not yet see fruit in the area you are praying for most. You may feel unchanged, unhealed, or unresolved. That does not mean nothing is happening. Roots may be deepening. Strength may be forming. Life may already be stirring beneath the surface.
Fruit comes in its season — not early, not late.
As we welcome Shabbat, may we carry this assurance with us: God is faithful to what He plants. He does not abandon what He begins. And even when growth is hidden, it is still real.
May this Shabbat bring rest to your soul, patience to your heart, and renewed trust in the One who causes life to grow.
Shabbat Shalom and Blessings,
Pastor Israel Pochtar
