Devotion 345 - pruning

Those britches stared back at me while I filled the washer. They sat on the wash basin;  I stood and glared back at them. They had taken up residence there now for at least two weeks,  waiting for me, my needle and my thread to repair them. Perhaps rebellious or just weary, facing one more thing that needed fixing was a bit more than I could muster.

Since early summer it seems we have been literally assaulted with repairs. We have had a child on our couch waiting for her surgical repair to heal.  Our dishwasher decided its door no longer needed to close.  We have had kitchen drawers drop out of their tracks and flop with fatigue.  Our dining room light fixture seems only content to work in the day and blink dark at night. We have now spent enough on our 10-year old car this summer that we could have replaced it with a reliable used one.

And now these pants.  I promised them I would return.  I loaded the washer as I do every Saturday morning.  I bid the pants good bye and I went for a long quiet walk.  My mind cluttered.  It is virtually a constant state. 

With the luxury of time, I walked farther and prayed harder.  I have a favorite side street that I can only venture on when time does allow.

It allowed today.  It is a quiet street littered with child’s toys I don’t have to pick up and lined with pretty flowers that I don’t need to weed.  I go down and circle the wide cul-de-sac then return on the other side.  The street has a certain beautiful scent to it, almost eucalyptus, although I have found none.  There is a house; it is a white house that stands on the side where I return to my regular path.  Some months ago, the owner painted the front door green.  In our neighborhood there is a lot of wood, red and blue.  This green, this rich avocado green pleases my eye.  

After a week or more of a green door, the owner obviously pleased as well added an avocado colored blench.  It is glorious.  Something about it all reminds me of our travels.  With the luxury of both time and thought, colors come to life.  I always slow down in front of this house and let my eyes drink in.  Today was no different, but today, something different caught my eye.  In the side yard, there used to stand a large tree.  In the morning sun, its leaves would cast a dappling shadow that would try and reach my green door.  I am convinced that is how I first saw it as the eastern sun traced the leaves but could not reach my door.  Today however, the tree, with a diameter no less than twelve inches was gone.  Standing in its place, a forgotten stump.

I had never noticed disease on the tree.  Perhaps it had encroached on the driveway or perhaps it had shaded flowers that craved sun.  Whatever it was, my tree had been pruned and I felt the pain of its loss.

Pruning, yes, am image used in the Holy Word.  An image, like mending and repairs, I run from.

The Father is the vinedresser and us the vines.  He makes it abundantly clear He is unimpressed with our flowery intentions, our plans for repair; He has grown us for fruit.

He comes and He prunes.  He takes away that which has born nothing and allows only the root to remain.  Our root of righteousness born by His blood surrounded in the soil of His word.  That is where we start and strangely where we finish.

When He calls us home, we will have the memories of this life, the truth of His word and Him alone.  Carefully and surgically, He removes what we have held too tightly and the things we thought were “good.”  It is painful.  

We are left.  The sun shining brightly now as we have nothing to shade its glory.  We look around wondering how we had missed it. How we had placed people ahead of Him, things along side of Him and missed the point of this long journey.

“I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser.  Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away;  and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit.  I am the vine, you are the branches.  He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit.  By this My Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit.”  John 15:1-2, 5, 8

Fruit.  I used to think those were the biggees, sharing scripture with a coworker, leading my Sunday schoolers in the sinner’s prayer.

Yet, life, motherhood and marriage, have taught me differently.  I do not judge my child’s academic year by their report card, but their diligence to their work.   I do not judge their prayers by their length or wisdom but their truth.    I do not judge my marriage by the years we remain together but the honesty we give and the trust we earn.   

He, a loving compassionate Father, prunes and waits for growth.  Our moment to moment realizations that He is good, in the face of daunting costs and repairs.  He is faithful in devastating disappointment and   breath taking heartache. He has removed what was unnecessary; He has left what is required.

As Blaise Pascal said of His pruning, “Pain was the loving and legitimate violence necessary to produce my liberty.”

So Beloved is our pruning.