Pruning

In my small group at church we've talked about pruning a couple of times now. In John 15:1-2, Jesus says, "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." The book our group is reading together, Trusting God by Jerry Bridges, discusses this passage a bit as a way of explaining some of the adversity that Christians encounter. Adversity is a way for God to "prune" us so we can become more fruitful. Even though pruning is not a fun experience, we are supposed to be glad when we recognize it because we know God has good plans in mind.

I know that pruning can take various forms. Perhaps God takes away an opportunity to do something I was looking forward to so I learn to rejoice in Him. Perhaps He makes getting enough sleep an impossibility for a while so I learn to rely on Him more. Perhaps He takes away my familiar surroundings and moves me to a new place with new people and a new job so I learn that my true identity is based in Him and not in my circumstances.

We moved to San Antonio just over a year ago, and I became a stay-at-home mom almost two years ago. Those two changes quickly removed me from settings where I felt comfortable and purposeful. I had friends there. It seemed to me that I was someone there. When I started staying at home with my little one and no longer had those stable routines about me, I felt like a dried-up, cut off version of myself. I didn't recognize myself or my purpose anymore.

When we moved into our new house, there was a mystery bush near the fence in the backyard underneath the shade of an oak tree. It was quite tall, about as tall as my husband. During winter it was just branches, but in summer it was covered with dark, pointed leaves. Finally this year my dad identified it for us as a Mexican fire bush. He hadn't recognized it the first summer because it had never bloomed. He told us that it needed sun in order to produce its bright orange flowers. We could move it and hope it started blooming if we took the trouble to dig out its root ball and dig a new hole for it in a sunny spot.

Well, a few weeks ago my husband got out the trimmers and shovel and started to cut and dig. First he pruned the long branches of the shrub so it would not be so unwieldy. Then he cut a wide circle in the soil around the base of the plant. Soon he got to the roots and discovered that those things were massive. We don't know how long some of the roots were because eventually he had to stop digging and simply chop the roots with loppers in order to get the bush out of the ground. The biggest root was about five inches across where he cut it. Finally, after much sweat and probably a few blisters, he was able to move the bush to its new spot, also dug out by him, in a sunnier place. A few days later, my husband reflected, "You know, after moving that fire bush, I feel somehow like it's more mine."

The bush still looks puny right now. It hasn't grown back to its former height, and it has yet to put on greenery for the summer, but we are hopeful that in its new spot it will produce not only pretty leaves, but gorgeous blooms, too. Maybe it will attract butterflies and hummingbirds. It could never have done those things in the old place.

When my Father, the infallible gardener, moves me to a new place, cutting off roots and taking away nice long branches that seem to be doing just fine, I can trust that His purpose is good. He plans for me to be more effective and beautiful, and to bring more glory to Him in the new place. Even if I feel less fruitful for a time immediately after the pruning, I know the end result will be a more abundant life than what was before. Also, as He puts me in new situations that cause me to recognize that my significance comes from Him, He is making me more His own.