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.
Mar 28, 2017
Feb 25, 2017
Hold Her Hand
The Texas mountain laurels are blooming right now. Full-grown, they are gorgeous trees covered with purple blossoms that make all the air smell like grape sweet tarts. Wouldn't you want to be so beautiful if you were a tree?
A few weeks ago, I held my daughter's hand as she took tenuous steps along the rock border of our small raised garden bed. Seeing her watch her feet and carefully step so slowly reminded me of something that happened to me about seven years ago, when I was in grad school and feeling extremely unsure of myself as a person. During the Christmas break I visited my mom and dad and went to their church for the Christmas Eve service. There in the peaceful sanctuary, when it was time for Communion, we had a silent, individual prayer time. My prayer went something like:
God, I know I need to be more like the woman who twirls around in big, flowing skirts at the top of bright green hills with blue skies all around her, her face shining as she looks up and laughs at the clouds. She's so exuberant and full of life. I need to be like that, and I'm not. I don't trust You enough. I'm so anxious all the time.
Suddenly, in the midst of my insecure ramblings, a vivid picture came into my mind. It was a picture of a small girl wearing dark-colored clothes that fit her well but were not flowing skirts. The girl was walking along a pathway that wasn't lit very well, and the whole background was fairly dark, too. The girl was holding a hand, though. She was taking steps slowly while holding a hand whose owner was not visible. God reassured me with this vivid picture by telling me that, though I was going slowly and might not have an outgoing, exuberant personality, I was trusting Him and walking faithfully as the woman He made me to be. That careful woman was just as beautiful as the spinning woman on the hill.
When my daughter walked along the garden border taking slow, careful steps, she was trusting me to catch her and to guide her in this new adventure she'd just discovered. She was being completely herself and completely lovely in doing so. If she'd been running along recklessly, I'd have been a bit frustrated, and she probably would have hurt herself.
Some people are quick to settle in, establish "roots," find their niches, make friends, and adjust to new roles. Some are slower. The Texas mountain laurel is notorious for being a slow-growing tree that may not bloom for several years after being planted. We have one in our yard that we planted almost right away when we first moved to our new house in our new city. It's been a year now, and there has barely been any new visible growth at all, and certainly no blooming. My husband told me just the other day, when I was feeling a bit down regarding my ability to feel settled in my life as a new mom in a new place, that I was like the mountain laurel, slow to become established, but with potential for beautiful blossoms after a time.
Looking closely at our little slow-growing tree, I can see some brighter green new leaves at the ends of some of the darker green branches that have been there for a while. When I look closely at my life, I can see improvements and growth - perhaps small, but there nonetheless. Praise God, who always holds my hand, for causing all kinds of growth, whether fast or slow, big or small, joyous in purple blooms or deliberate in tender stems and leaves!
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| photo courtesy of Matt Kolodzie |
God, I know I need to be more like the woman who twirls around in big, flowing skirts at the top of bright green hills with blue skies all around her, her face shining as she looks up and laughs at the clouds. She's so exuberant and full of life. I need to be like that, and I'm not. I don't trust You enough. I'm so anxious all the time.
Suddenly, in the midst of my insecure ramblings, a vivid picture came into my mind. It was a picture of a small girl wearing dark-colored clothes that fit her well but were not flowing skirts. The girl was walking along a pathway that wasn't lit very well, and the whole background was fairly dark, too. The girl was holding a hand, though. She was taking steps slowly while holding a hand whose owner was not visible. God reassured me with this vivid picture by telling me that, though I was going slowly and might not have an outgoing, exuberant personality, I was trusting Him and walking faithfully as the woman He made me to be. That careful woman was just as beautiful as the spinning woman on the hill.
When my daughter walked along the garden border taking slow, careful steps, she was trusting me to catch her and to guide her in this new adventure she'd just discovered. She was being completely herself and completely lovely in doing so. If she'd been running along recklessly, I'd have been a bit frustrated, and she probably would have hurt herself.
Some people are quick to settle in, establish "roots," find their niches, make friends, and adjust to new roles. Some are slower. The Texas mountain laurel is notorious for being a slow-growing tree that may not bloom for several years after being planted. We have one in our yard that we planted almost right away when we first moved to our new house in our new city. It's been a year now, and there has barely been any new visible growth at all, and certainly no blooming. My husband told me just the other day, when I was feeling a bit down regarding my ability to feel settled in my life as a new mom in a new place, that I was like the mountain laurel, slow to become established, but with potential for beautiful blossoms after a time.
Looking closely at our little slow-growing tree, I can see some brighter green new leaves at the ends of some of the darker green branches that have been there for a while. When I look closely at my life, I can see improvements and growth - perhaps small, but there nonetheless. Praise God, who always holds my hand, for causing all kinds of growth, whether fast or slow, big or small, joyous in purple blooms or deliberate in tender stems and leaves!
 |
| our small mountain laurel |
Feb 21, 2017
Covenant Marriage: Freedom to Fight, Fight to Freedom
I first read about the concept that covenant marriage provides great security for the spouses in Timothy Keller's excellent The Meaning of Marriage a little more than three years ago, when my now-husband and I read the book together during our engagement. But I've never experienced the truth of the idea so explicitly as when, recently, my husband and I went through a couple of difficult weeks during which we got into a nasty pattern of fighting and being angry with each other over some fairly insignificant issues. I suppose that after three years of marriage we have reached a point where we are each trying to figure out what marriage and parenting look like and how we should navigate our relationship through the little trials that daily life brings. Sometimes, as I'm sure every married person knows, tension, tiredness, and frustration can spill over into shouting and resentment aimed at your spouse.
When this pattern of anger happened between us, my husband and I felt confused as to why it was happening and how to fix it. But we did not feel confused about one thing: we are married, which means we have a committed covenant relationship with each other. And that reality is not going away, no matter what we might feel. Having a covenant between us means we are not in this relationship "at will," leaving a back door open for either party to walk out. Instead, knowing we are together as long as we both live means we aren't thinking of leaving as an option. The only option is to work it out.
As we struggled through our bitter fights, we periodically reminded each other that we were still married, and that we still loved each other. I can tell you that we did not feel in love at the time! Far from it. But hearing those words, "I am with you. I do love you," from my husband meant that I had freedom to be myself and work through our fighting and the terrible emotions we were both experiencing without fear of abandonment. There is amazing security in the covenant.
However, the covenant commitment also means that we did not want to stay in our pattern of anger for very long. How awful would it be if we felt anger with no positive change or hope for the rest of our lives? Instead of resigning ourselves to the "fact" of our emotions, we recognized that, precisely because we are committed, we needed to work to make things better. What worked for us in this case was simply setting aside our complaints against each other for a time (not to sweep them under the rug, but as a temporary "truce"), and focusing on being affectionate through basic things like encouraging words and hugs. Maybe this sounds too simple, but it has been helping us. As we let ourselves (through choosing every day to be affectionate) have a break from the habit of bitterness, we found ourselves being more and more able to productively talk about what had been bothering us. Fighting to maintain affection is possible, and emotions can be chosen, though not always easily.
Let me say as a final note that my husband and I believe covenant marriage truly works only when God, who created marriage in the first place, is a party in the commitment along with the two spouses. In such cases, marriage is truly the best blessing and the biggest way God can shape a person into being more like Himself.
When this pattern of anger happened between us, my husband and I felt confused as to why it was happening and how to fix it. But we did not feel confused about one thing: we are married, which means we have a committed covenant relationship with each other. And that reality is not going away, no matter what we might feel. Having a covenant between us means we are not in this relationship "at will," leaving a back door open for either party to walk out. Instead, knowing we are together as long as we both live means we aren't thinking of leaving as an option. The only option is to work it out.
As we struggled through our bitter fights, we periodically reminded each other that we were still married, and that we still loved each other. I can tell you that we did not feel in love at the time! Far from it. But hearing those words, "I am with you. I do love you," from my husband meant that I had freedom to be myself and work through our fighting and the terrible emotions we were both experiencing without fear of abandonment. There is amazing security in the covenant.
However, the covenant commitment also means that we did not want to stay in our pattern of anger for very long. How awful would it be if we felt anger with no positive change or hope for the rest of our lives? Instead of resigning ourselves to the "fact" of our emotions, we recognized that, precisely because we are committed, we needed to work to make things better. What worked for us in this case was simply setting aside our complaints against each other for a time (not to sweep them under the rug, but as a temporary "truce"), and focusing on being affectionate through basic things like encouraging words and hugs. Maybe this sounds too simple, but it has been helping us. As we let ourselves (through choosing every day to be affectionate) have a break from the habit of bitterness, we found ourselves being more and more able to productively talk about what had been bothering us. Fighting to maintain affection is possible, and emotions can be chosen, though not always easily.
Let me say as a final note that my husband and I believe covenant marriage truly works only when God, who created marriage in the first place, is a party in the commitment along with the two spouses. In such cases, marriage is truly the best blessing and the biggest way God can shape a person into being more like Himself.
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