I watched him yesterday from the window, working so meticulously. With a small pair of cutters, one by one, he removed dying leaves from the rosebushes and explained to me that the roses can't bloom as brightly when their leaves are dying. So almost everyday, he goes out and cuts off the dying leaves. And the roses are beautiful... they really are. He takes such good care of them.
My grandpop's roses are beautiful because he cares for them so well. They really are a testament to who he is as their gardener.
Oh my word. Has Jesus been speaking to me! I watched my grandpop and I could hear his voice--
I am the true vine and my Father is the Gardener. Every branch is me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit in itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15)
I have felt this pruning lately and I have struggled to understand it. Areas of my life that I have put my trust in and measured my security by... some of them have been disappearing. I sometimes feel like I am standing with empty hands. Emptiness, loss--these are difficult to understand and live with. I feel weary and I find myself battling that dark place where I question the heart of God toward me.
But still he prunes. And he tells me that he does it because he's a good gardener (the best) and he knows the beauty and the fruit that I was made for and he longs to see me live in it.
When I was in Maine last month, one of the greatest treasures given to me was time with my dad. We went on several "adventures" that we came up with together, and for me, the time was precious. One day, we drove down a pretty desolate dirt road and pulled off by a stream for my dad to do some fishing. There was a treasure waiting for me there-- next to the stream, grew one lone pink tulip...
It was growing in the grass next to the stream all by itself and it was the only one in sight. I have no idea how it got there (although I tried to imagine all of the ways.) It was strikingly beautiful and starkly different than the landscape around it. My dad still talks about how much I loved that tulip... I guess I made quite a scene over it.
I knew Jesus gave that flower to me, but at the time, I didn't understand. Now I think I do. Pruning hurts. Sometimes, I'm tempted to think I might be content to just be a piece of grass and not hurt... hide and blend in with the landscape for a little while. But Jesus, who made me, knows me so much better than I know me. He longs that I would lift my head and see him and know him and trust his care. So he prunes... because he alone knows the tulip that I really can be in his hands.
So I guess I don't need to question his intentions or fight his pruning. Because if he's the gardener, then I want to be the tulip. I praise the one who patiently prunes even while his flowers try to fight him off and I pray that I might live my life as a testament to the goodness of the gardener.
