I wouldn’t call myself a gardening expert, but I can keep a few rose bushes alive and thriving in my front yard. They are lovely, they are resilient, and their fragrance fills the perimeter of our front yard when the breeze sweeps through. Fragrant blooms capture my heart. If we look closely, they can teach us so much about our lives in Jesus.
At my work, we recently were blessed with some rose bushes for our property, but we have also faced excruciating heat this summer. My coworker and friend, Kara, was telling me one morning that she thought our rose bushes might die. I wondered if instead of dying, the plant just needed a pruning. Sure enough, I was able to prune off about sixteen or so dead blooms and make room for new life and deeper roots. I could see the rose bush had even tried to bear new buds, but did not have the energy to sustain them to a full bloom. Instead of giving the majority of their energy to their roots or new blooms, roses continue to spend precious energy on the dead bloom that has already finished its season.
It can look grim when a rose bush hasn’t been pruned.
As we cleaned up our work and threw the old buds into the trash, the rose bush already looked more hopeful. I almost chuckled out loud at the similarity to my own life. The last six weeks or so have been a trial, and there were several days I told God I felt like I was drowning. I realized I was trying to make what worked in past seasons work in this season. With my kids’ summer schedules, my new work schedule, our family rhythm. Things weren’t fitting like I thought they were supposed to. I realized, of course, this summer can’t look like last summer. My kids have grown a year; we have grown a year. “I am not drowning,” I thought to myself, “I’m being pruned.”
We went back inside, and as I opened the door, I lifted my voice and said, “Oh Lord, would you do in our hearts what we just did to this rose bush!” A lighthearted prayer, but with genuine faith and perspective from the Lord. Kara resounded with an amen, and we went inside, both of us, I think, pondering in our hearts the whispers from Heaven we heard while pruning our roses.
I imagine myself as a little rose bush, afraid that if The Gardener prunes away my bloom, I would not bloom again. “Don’t prune me!” I would say, “I worked so hard to bear that bloom, and if it’s gone, no one will know that I bloomed!”
The Gardener would stoop down and smile with warm eyes, and say, “Oh, sweet one, I have to prune this bloom away. When I do, it’ll make room for many more blooms to come; year after year, you will get stronger, taller, and bear even more! But I must trim off what is dead to make room for you to grow.”
I long to lean into pruning seasons with a grateful and open heart. I often find myself protesting, “Wait, I wasn’t done with this yet!” I need to let go of older seasons, not because they were bad, but because there needs to be room for more. I can live freely and more abundantly when I allow God to prune away the old, whether it’s my expectations, old habits, or sometimes even my preferences. Underneath my protests…was a real question that God wanted to bring to the surface of my heart.
“God was evident in my life in this season; will He be again?”
He will.
The Great Gardener of our hearts tends us with such care and gentleness, if we allow Him. He can prune off the dead things in our lives to make way for new life and new fruit. Because He loves us. I smile thinking of rose bushes everywhere echoing the truth we find in the book of John. Jesus tells us in chapter fifteen that He is the vine, we are the branches, and The Father is the vinedresser. We abide and bear fruit. The Father prunes, and we abide, and bear fruit. Again, and again.
He fills me with Himself, and I naturally bear fruit out of that relationship. We don’t bear fruit for the relationship. We live from love. I am simply a branch shooting out from the vine. Knowing that the Gardener knows exactly what He is doing in our lives. He sees us through each season, and tends to our hearts with attentiveness. He lovingly knows what needs to stay, and what needs to go. His love guides everything He does in us, and through us. We only need to trust His hand as He moves things around in our lives.
Abiding in Jesus is a reminder that my life is not my own. Even the good things. The praiseworthy things. The fruit that bore witness of The Spirit in my life was harvested. It’s time to make room for more. God was faithful then; He will be faithful again. Instead of seeing a pruning season as a marker for “the end,” I want to bravely shift my perspective. It’s more like, “Begin again.”
When things start to feel out of place, maybe it is time to approach the Throne of Grace and lean in to see if our hearts are needing a gentle pruning. Just like our sweet little rose bushes at my work, they just needed a little prune and room to breathe from a hard season of heat. Just like my heart, I needed to let go of older seasons to fully embrace the season I am in. I yield to the hand of the Gardener, holding wisdom from years past, and a teachable heart for the days I am in.
{If you enjoyed this blog post, you might also like this episode of The Love Offering Podcast, where Rachael chats with Tara Dew about three surprising paths to a truly joy-filled life from John 15. If you’re willing to take Jesus up on His teaching, you’ll find that God’s pruning, God’s presence, and God’s commands have the power to deliver not just a taste of joy as a fruit God is developing in your life, but an overflowing bushel of it! The question is, are you willing? You can listen to the episode here.}
About the Author:
Jenny Moore is a ministry wife, writer, and encourager who loves reminding weary hearts of the character and nature of God. She serves alongside her husband, Nathan, a Worship Pastor at Trinity Church, and works as the Volunteer Coordinator for a local nonprofit serving single mothers. Jenny is passionate about championing women, cultivating community, and creating spaces where people discover their God-given identity. She and Nathan have been married for ten years and are raising three daughters together, along with their beloved (and slightly chaotic) dog, George Bailey.
