Read, Write, Love, Repeat

     I have always loved springtime in a garden, warmer days, fresh air after being inside, promise of good times outdoors with friends and family in the coming months.  But I don’t always love the work of springtime in the garden.

     It’s our first spring in our Texas home, and I had an uncharacteristic burst of energy last week, propelling my chronic-illness-self outside to attack some of the to-do list screaming in the back of my head.  A freeze in December had decimated the tropical plants along/in the koi pond and the wreckage had stared at me, brown, crunchy, droopy, and overall ugly, for some weeks now, demanding attention.  Something had to be done.   I set forth to do battle in my backyard, armed with clippers and gardening gloves at the ready, prepared to attack the old dead plant growth around my koi pond and along my back fence.  I won’t tell you how lovely and warm it was here in Fort Worth in the last week of February, lest I cause some of my non-Texan readers to think decidedly un-Christlike thoughts toward us Texans.  Ahem.  I digress.

     As I set forth on clearing the dead growth, I was amazed at how much was there.  I kept clipping and cutting, and there were still more stalks that had to be pulled back and trimmed, more tendrils to hack off near the root, and more leaves to be scooped out of the pond.  The koi were appreciative.  Or at least I like to think they were.

     As I worked, however, I was delighted to find that, under all the dead things I cleared away, there were beautiful brilliant-green sprouts of new growth, just ready to catch the springtime sunlight, just ready to spring forth and grow like crazy, into the lush and beautiful plants that will make my backyard beautiful again very soon.  But if that dead growth hadn’t been removed, the new sprouts couldn’t get the light they needed, impeding their growth, and they’d remain invisible, covered by dead things from seasons past.  Now that all the dead plants have been removed, I can clearly see the sunlight-bathed new sprouts from the seat by my desk at the window.

     There are seasons, so many seasons, in life that require me to cut back the dead, unused, past-season things in my heart that choke off the light I so desperately need to grow.  These things could have been good and healthy in the season they were meant for, but now are dead, wilting, taking up important space, and no longer what is best for me.  And so I prune.  It’s not easy, and sometimes it’s excruciatingly slow.  The more I cut back, the  more I can see what still needs to be removed.  And then I find weeds that were never meant to be there: things, habits, people that are decidedly unhealthy for me, things that really choke out my growth.  And I cut some more.

     In John 15:1-2, Jesus is talking to His disciples right before his betrayal, on a stroll through a vineyard.

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener.  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.”

     Oh yes.  It’s not always me who does the pruning in my heart to make way for the sprouts of new life to cautiously peek through.  God has had to do some serious bushwhacking in my life, sometimes forcibly removing the things that are too big for me to uproot on my own, things would choke out the healthy and keep me from His best, things that keep me from being fruitful.

     It’s hard, and it’s draining, much like working in my backyard (did I mention I was on the couch the day after my pruning-fest?), but the reward of a clean slate and a peek at new growth is worthwhile.  So worthwhile.

God has new seasons for each of us, but to flourish in those new seasons we have to be willing to prune back last season’s dead things.  Get our your pruning shears, my friends, and allow God to use His.  You won’t regret it.  The struggle may take a while, but overall it’s short term, and the growth that will take place is truly a thing of beauty.