Though we have produced some fruit for Christ, and have a joyful hope that we are plants of his own planting, there are times when we feel utterly barren. Prayer is lifeless, love is cold, faith is weak—every grace in the garden of our heart wilts and droops. We are like flowers in scorching heat, desperate for rain.

In such a condition, what are we to do? The text speaks directly to us in this very state: "Sing, O barren one, break forth and cry aloud."

But what can I sing about? I cannot sing about the present, and even the past looks full of barrenness.

Ah! I can sing of Jesus Christ. I can speak of the times the Redeemer has visited me in the past. Or if not these, I can sing of the great love that brought him down from heaven's heights for our redemption. I will go to the cross again. Come, my soul. You were once heavy laden, and you lost your burden there. Go to Calvary again. Perhaps the very cross that gave you life will give you fruitfulness.

What is my barrenness? It is the platform for his fruit-creating power. What is my desolation? It is the black setting for the sapphire of his everlasting love.

I will go in my poverty. I will go in my helplessness. I will go in all my shame and backsliding. I will tell him that I am still his child. And trusting in his faithful heart, even I, the barren one, will sing and cry aloud.

Sing, believer! It will cheer your own heart and the hearts of other desolate ones. Sing on, for now that you are truly grieved by your barrenness, you will be fruitful soon. Now that God has made you loathe being without fruit, he will soon cover you with clusters.

The experience of our barrenness is painful, but the Lord's visitations are delightful. A sense of our own poverty drives us to Christ, and that is exactly where we need to be. For in him our fruit is found.