Pruning.

I have a love and hate relationship with pruning.

Early on in our marriage, when my husband would bring up the suggestion of pruning my pothos plants, I would feel a rise of panic.
“What? Why? I don’t think they need it,” I would say without making eye contact.
“Well, they touch the floor, and they look so spindly.”
“I like them that way,” I replied, hoping that what I wanted would win and we wouldn’t need to compromise.
“You know, if we trim them they will get fuller–fill out more–look healthier instead of gangly,” he remarked.
“Ok,” I replied grudgingly, “But I will do it.”
I would take the scissors and cut just a few inches off and hope that was enough. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

In the beginning, I could hardly stand to trim off any section of any plant. Even tendrils that were yellowing and clearly unhealthy took sheer will for me to lop them off, and I usually said an internal apology to my plant as I did so. Later though, I began noticing new growth and more vibrant plants (although I wouldn’t admit it aloud yet). Over time, I have not only confessed the truth about pruning, but I have also willingly pruned many a house plant. My plants are happier because of it, and so is my husband.

Outside, I have gone through a similar process with our bushes. At our previous house, the pruning began with burning bushes. At this house, Doug pruned our forsythia and one dwarf lilac bush I had agreed needed a hair cut.

I gasped in shock when I saw the dwarf lilac after he was done.

“I thought you were trimming that bush! Not massacring it!” I blurted.
“It’s ok, Bev, it will grow back. You’ll see,” Doug soothed.
“I think it’s going to die! Too much is gone,” I accused.
“Listen, we will buy a new dwarf lilac bush if that happens,” he reassured.

Sure enough, the next year it looked lovely. This year, it doubled from its original size and has blossoms in every nook and cranny. When I sit at my desk like I am doing now with the window cracked open, I breathe in the delicious lilac scent as I work.

Last weekend, we set to pruning more of our lilac and burning bushes. I had attempted my own pruning of our forsythia and our ninebark bushes the weekend before. At a second perusal, I realized that while I had been effective in getting rid of most of the dead and dying branches, I had done a poor job in shaping the bushes. Doug is really very good at making the bushes beautiful when he prunes. I should tell him that, I mused. He and I were working side by side right then, next to each other and talking but not able to see each other due to the fact that our heads were in the middle of branches and twigs. Maybe spiders too, but I chose not to think about that.

“Hey Doug,” I said as I extricated myself from the lilac I was trimming. “I was just remembering the dwarf lilac bush you pruned a couple years ago and how I freaked out at first,” I confessed as I turned to look at him. “You know, you’re really good at…” I stopped mid-sentence as my eyes fell on the once taller-than-me lilac bush Doug had been trimming now a quarter of its size. I gaped, speechless.
“Um, what were you saying?” he grinned sheepishly at me. “Maybe you should finish saying what you were about to say,” he smiled.
Why is it so hard for me to prune even when I know it will be helpful? Whether it’s houseplants or yard plants, I still cringe at the process.

It is even more difficult for me to undergo pruning from God.

Jesus explained in John 15 that, in the deepest of love and care, He prunes us to make us healthier, more vibrant, more abundant in life. “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener,” Jesus teaches,  ² “He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. ³ You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. ⁴ Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.”

Lately, I have been undergoing some major pruning. God seems to be cutting things back that are not to be part of my life anymore. For someone who loves to embrace gathering and collecting, this is no simple and easy process. There is a reason we have boxes downstairs in our basement that, after moving them to a new house for the 5th time, Doug labeled Bev’s sentimental crap….more of Bev’s sentimental crap…still more of Bev’s sentimental stuff. I struggle to get rid of things that have meant a lot to me in the past. I tend to hold on too tightly.

I have mostly learned to trust Doug with our yard plants. I am still learning to trust God with the trimming back of my life. I admit, it is often a painful process, but I also have seen the beauty of God’s results.

I know I’m not alone in this. Maybe that’s why Jesus continued teaching on the subject in John 15.
⁵ “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. ⁶ If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. ⁷ If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. ⁸ This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.”

I love gazing at the glory of the lilac bush in full bloom outside my window right now. The birds are enjoying its created glory too, resting in its branches and hopping over to my feeder from its safety. It makes me contemplate. What is God shaping me for? With all He is purposefully cutting away from my life, for what is He making room to grow in me?

Master Gardener, help me to trust you in my pruning. May the results reflect your beauty.