It is funny how much of who we are can be tied up in a name. My name is Bethany. For years, I have never understood why. I’ve been in a name “crisis”. My siblings all had really neat names, and I felt that I had the common bible name. Or so I thought. I even had a problem with what my name meant: house or place of the unripe figs. What the heck does that mean? Today, I figured it out. I am no longer in crisis; instead I am finally, at almost 30, ready to embrace my name.
Unripe fig resembles where I am at in life. Just like a beautiful fig on a tree, I am sitting here waiting. As I wait, I am growing. I spend my time soaking in the sun, drinking in the rain, and growing. Always growing. I am green because I am not done yet. I still have growing to do. I am still not sweet enough. And when I am, then it will be time for me to be picked and enjoyed by the one who made me. Yes, you may put it on my tombstone, ripe fig. Until then, I am unripe, otherwise known as ripening.
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