Hidden seasons can feel frustrating, but they are often where God develops the roots needed to sustain future fruit.
Growing up in Tobago, in the village of Moriah just outside the capital of Scarborough, our yard was filled with fruit trees.
Julie mangoes.
Long mangoes.
Jamaican plums.
Cherries.
Guavas.
Mandarins.
Sugarcane.
Chenet.
Pawpaw.
Custard apple.
And every year, as children, we knew when certain seasons were approaching.
The conversations would begin early:
“The mangoes are coming.”
“The plums are almost ready.”
“Give it another week.”
And yet no matter how many times we learned the lesson, there was always the same temptation during mango season.
Impatience.
You would see the fruit beginning to form and convince yourself it was ready before its time.
So I would run outside, pick it early, bite into it eagerly—and immediately be hit with the tart, underdeveloped taste.
The sweetness had not fully formed.
The flavor was not there yet.
The fruit had potential, but it had been picked before its season.
And most times, disappointed, I tossed it into the bushes.
As I think about spiritual gifts, formation, and growth, I realize how often we treat ourselves—and others—the same way.
Force-Ripened Fruit
We live in a culture obsessed with visible outcomes.
Visible success.
Visible gifting.
Visible platforms.
Visible results.
And because of that, many people begin comparing developing gifts to fully matured fruit.
We see someone singing beautifully, preaching powerfully, leading confidently, praying eloquently, creating masterfully, or operating fully in their calling—and we quietly begin resenting our own undeveloped gifts.
We forget that mature fruit did not appear overnight.
It sat through seasons.
Storms.
Pruning.
Waiting.
Hidden growth.
Time under the careful cultivation of the Holy Spirit.
And yet many of us want the flavor without the formation.
We want harvest without hiddenness.
We want maturity without process.
We want fruit before its season.
“Your Season Hasn’t Come Yet”
Recently, I watched my son Bryden wrestle with this tension.
His older sister Marai has become a state champion—not once, but twice—in discus. She has spent years developing her craft through practice, disappointment, repetition, discipline, and growth.
Meanwhile, Bryden is just beginning his own journey.
And I could see the discouragement rising in him as he compared his early efforts to his sister’s developed success.
As parents, those moments are difficult to watch.
You want to rescue them.
Protect them from disappointment.
Ease the discomfort.
But I remember encouraging him:
“Bryden, your season hasn’t come yet.”
Not because he lacked value.
Not because God had forgotten him.
Not because he was less gifted.
But because God was still developing what had not fully ripened yet.
And honestly, I think many believers need to hear that same reminder.
Your season has not come yet.
Do not despise the season of growth simply because someone else’s fruit is already visible.
You Cannot Borrow Someone Else’s Fruit
I remember another moment after my daughter Marai won four awards at an art festival while Bryden won none.
And as a parent, I will admit there was a temptation in me:
“Maybe she should just give him one.”
Maybe we should make it feel fair.
Equal.
Less painful.
But deep down, I knew that would not truly help him.
Because you cannot borrow someone else’s fruit.
You cannot inherit someone else’s stewardship.
You cannot mature by standing underneath another person’s labor and taking credit for what only time, discipline, and development produced in them.
As painful as that disappointment was, Bryden needed to sit in that uncomfortable season.
Not because discomfort is cruel.
But because growth often happens there.
And if I had stepped in to artificially transfer what his sister had earned simply to relieve his disappointment, I might have unintentionally taught him something dangerous:
But the Kingdom of God does not work that way.
God develops each gift differently.
In different measures.
In different seasons.
In different timing.
Scripture reminds us that the Spirit distributes gifts as He wills.
Not as culture wills.
Not as comparison demands.
Not as envy pressures.
And often, the greatest damage we can do to a developing believer, child, or leader is to prematurely force-ripen what God is still forming.
The Danger of Comparison
Comparison is dangerous because it distorts stewardship.
When we constantly compare ourselves to others fully operating in mature gifting, we often begin to resent:
Like Esau, many people become willing to trade long-term inheritance for immediate emotional gratification.
But mature fruit requires patience.
It requires remaining planted long enough for God to develop:
And honestly, some fruit only develops sweetness under pressure.
The Holy Spirit Develops Flavor Over Time
One of the beautiful things about fruit is that no amount of human anxiety can truly rush healthy maturation.
You can pick fruit early.
You can artificially soften it.
You can attempt to manufacture readiness.
But authentic flavor still takes time.
And the same is true spiritually.
The Holy Spirit develops gifts slowly and intentionally.
Not only the visible gift itself, but the character required to carry it well.
Because gifting without maturity often collapses under weight it was never prepared to sustain.
And throughout Scripture, we see that time itself often becomes part of God’s preparation process.
David was anointed king as a young shepherd, yet God left him in the fields for years before he ever carried the crown.
The anointing came early, but the formation took time.
God used hidden seasons to develop:
Even Jesus, though fully the Son of God, did not immediately step into public ministry. Scripture tells us He began His earthly ministry around the age of thirty.
And if time had purpose even in the preparation of David and Christ, perhaps we should not resent the seasons where God is still quietly developing us.
Because sometimes the delay is not rejection.
Sometimes the hidden season is the preparation.
Sometimes God is protecting both the fruit and the person who will eventually carry it.
“My Hour Has Not Yet Come”
Even at the wedding in Cana, when Mary approached Jesus about the wine running out, His response gently acknowledged something important:
“My hour has not yet come.”
It was not a rejection of purpose.
It was recognition of timing.
And perhaps there is wisdom there for parents, leaders, mentors, and even churches.
Not every gift must be rushed into visibility.
Not every developing believer needs immediate exposure.
Not every seed must be forced open before its season.
If even Christ honored the Father’s timing regarding public revelation, perhaps we too must learn not to push people ahead of the formation God is still completing within them.
Because time has purpose.
And hidden seasons are often where God develops the roots necessary to sustain future fruit.
Recognized Early, Developed Slowly
I think about one of my brothers as well.
When he was born, a woman from our church visited my mother in the hospital and told her:
“The child you are holding is a doctor.”
And years later, he became exactly that.
But even though the calling may have been recognized early, he still had to go through the process:
He could not simply announce:
“I know I’m called to be a doctor, so let me begin operating immediately.”
The gift may have been recognized early.
But wisdom, maturity, and stewardship still required time.
And honestly, that process protected the very people he would one day serve.
Because undeveloped gifting can unintentionally harm others when released before its season.
And perhaps spiritually, many of us struggle because we mistake early affirmation for immediate readiness.
But throughout Scripture—and throughout life—God often reveals purpose long before He releases people fully into it.
Trust the Season
Looking back now, I realize those mango trees taught us something deeply spiritual long before I had the language for it.
Good fruit takes time.
And fruit picked before its season often disappoints not because it lacked potential—but because it lacked maturity.
So if your gifts feel small right now…
If someone else’s fruit seems sweeter…
If another person appears further ahead…
Do not resent your season.
Do not despise hidden growth.
Do not abandon stewardship simply because your fruit has not fully ripened yet.
The same God who planted the seed knows exactly when the fruit will be ready.
And when He finishes developing it, the flavor will be worth the wait.
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1
Reflection
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