Fig Tree Faith

Our farmer friend decided he wanted to remove some fig trees from his land and offered our family as many trees as we cared to take out. Grateful for the opportunity to beautify our yard with fruit-bearing trees, my husband and I carefully dug up seven trees and transported them to our property.
With visions of shade from the upcoming summer heat, on a gray, overcast morning we enthusiastically dug places for them along the curve of our driveway. My husband shoveled the dirt over the roots as I carefully held the trees in place. While my dirt-covered fingers were still wrapped around the cool trunks, I breathed a prayer to the Giver of Life to bless each tree and make it fruitful.
As we placed the last of the seven trees, my neighbor walked up the drive. Carelessly, to make conversation, I commented to her as she approached, “I’m standing here praying over this silly tree - as if God hears me about such a matter.”
No further thought was given to the subject as we chatted about other things - at least not until later that rainy afternoon, when my son came home from school, slamming the door and yelling from the kitchen, “Where did we get the cool trees, Mom?”  Before I could reply he continued, “Looks like the one on the end is dead.”
In my spirit I knew instantly. My mind flashed to the foolish words I had spoken that morning as I planted the seventh tree: “If He hears me…” I grabbed my wool sweater and ran out the front door and down the muddy driveway, almost slipping. It was a misty rain, softly dampening my hair and clothing. It was obvious, even before I could get a close look. The last tree planted was drooping and many leaves were on the ground.
Stunned, I shivered and pulled the sweater closer around me. The remaining leaves looked different than the ones on the other six trees. The trunk bent awkwardly and the branches looked thinner and dry.  Wouldn’t I have noticed this before?  I sneezed into my wet-sweatered arm and my eyes blurred as I gazed at the trees, watching water drip off them to make puddles on the dirt beneath.  They were all planted with the same care. Why did we plant this pathetic-looking tree?  
While looking up at the darkening sky, I again remembered my words.  Was God speaking to me through a fig tree? Distantly, east of the house, the heavens lit up with a dashing flash of electrical light. Moments later, thunder aggressively cracked an echoing drumming, seemingly confirming my question.
I knew there was a Scripture about a fig tree Jesus changed. A chill shuddered through my body and water rolled through my straightened hair and down my forehead, dripping off my nose. I thought of the withered fig tree the disciples saw. (Matthew 21:20) Then other pieces of Scripture formed in my mind.  
“ ...He must believe and not doubt... for he that doubts is like a wave of the sea... That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord.” (James 1:6-7 NIV) 
I grasped the moist trunk of the seventh tree with my cold fingers.  My prayers for the trees had been in faith, but I’d expressed doubt with the last tree. I wiped the wetness from my face, and after repenting for my flippancy, I prayed for God’s blessing of the tree. And I prayed with faith.
The sky opened up with a downpour as I meditatively walked back to the house, sloshing through cloudy, brown puddles gathering on the driveway. Mud splatters decorated my legs; but a clean feeling, deep inside me was rising in my spirit. My son was staring out the window at his mother’s strange behavior. When I went inside, I shared a miraculous lesson in faith.
The next day, the sun shone brightly, and within a few days, all seven trees were stripped of their leaves and looked rather bad. But finally, all the trees sprouted tiny, bright green evidences of new life.
When I share this experience with people unlike me, they don’t find it particularly significant - especially since it isn’t unusual for fig trees to drop leaves when they’re replanted.  But it doesn’t matter to me if I don’t have any proof about how unusual my seventh tree looked on that stormy day. I’ve learned something about faith. Even when people tell me it’s only a coincidence that the last tree along the curve of the driveway is the largest and most productive, it’s not what I believe.