Acorns have been on my mind a lot this fall. It all started when I was pruning some shrubs under a tall white oak tree, and thwack! I was hit on the head by a falling acorn—it was really painful! So many have fallen from this tree that we found it necessary to gather up the countless number that had come to rest in the grass. This menial task turned out to be quite relaxing, so I kicked back and took a closer look. The acorns were lying about with all the appearance of doing nothing. Having lost their shiny green gloss, they had turned a nice nut brown. Their caps had fallen off. Some were smushed, some discolored, and some were falling apart.
But as I picked them up, I saw marvelous things were happening.
The acorns testified to a truth I needed in that moment about rest.
When attached up in the tree’s crown, they were richly fed and loaded with carbohydrates, fats, and protein. They weathered the heat and some powerful storms for an assigned season; in this abiding, the acorns had been filled with all they needed.
Now on the ground, they’re doing their great work, feeding wildlife and putting down roots to produce mighty oaks. From a place of rest, being the fullest expression of themselves, they do the work that’s been prepared for them.
“Lord fill me up! Make me bloom to your glory! Let me rest in You and how you’ve created me to be uniquely fruitful.”
Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me (John 15:4).
Winter is beginning to wind down here, and it’s the time when pruning needs to be well underway. The blueberry buds are already emerging! Just a fleeting look at our scraggly shrubs makes it clear they need tending. I actually enjoy pruning…probably because I like things tidied up, and I get the immediate gratification of seeing some improvement in their appearance. It must give me a little boost of serotonin.
I also view it as an artsy endeavor. I’m making something more beautiful in its form and in its ability to produce. But I don’t care much for the weather that accompanies this winter pruning—it’s wet and chilly most days in February. I’ve gotten a start though, taking advantage of the warmer days we’ve had this particular February.
Some years I’ve neglected pruning for one reason or another, but because the results are wonderful when I do prune, I decided to create a calendar to remind me of when our plants need it. Pruning is done in different seasons depending on whether the plant blooms on old growth or new growth. Although many of the basics are the same, there are also some differences in how to prune different plants. After a little research I incorporated some basic instructions in the calendar along with some links. In our yard right now the limelight hydrangea, abelia, holly, ligustrum, rose of Sharon and blueberry plants need pruning. But the gardenia, azalea, Indian hawthorn, camellia, and other hydrangeas should be done in another season. If you aren’t sure about your plants, ask a local nursery or research online.
Another reason I like pruning is because like art, it’s a meditative practice. It’s a deliberate and purposeful process that brings me into the moment. As I was trimming our rose of Sharon a few weeks ago, I imagined the way it was going to look during the summer as a result. I remembered its growth last year and wondered how to remove what was not really needed for how I envision it this year.
New branches already appearing!
I was careful to make diagonal cuts. Is this the right place or should I do it here? How much should I remove on this one? I took out the extraneous branches growing up from the bottom, which were those rubbing against other branches, or crowding them, or just looking unseemly. I evaluated more branches to learn how they had responded to last year’s trimming.
While pruning the limelight hydrangeas, I recalled how the number of branches can impact the size of those big flowers. Fewer branches mean larger flowers. Did I want more blooms and smaller flowers or fewer blooms and larger flowers? How many branches do I need to remove to produce the larger flowered ones?
We have one blueberry bush, and I feel especially tentative about pruning it. I’m concerned I might make it less productive instead of more. Which canes should I remove?
I love the blossoms and the berries! I think I just need more bushes!
As I tended our plants, I came to know them better. Through touching and examining them, surveying their health, seeking out what might interfere with their flourishing, and envisioning their potential growth and beauty, I felt a connection with them as well as a deepened affection.
Handling my plants in this way gave me a new perspective on pruning. I think I understand more clearly how our heavenly Father goes about His pruning in our lives. It also highlighted tendencies and conditions in my life for which pruning is to my profit.
He’s not just cutting away, He’s tending us. Like my hands moving about in the crown of our shrubs, His hands move with care and intention in and throughout our lives. He assesses us affectionately, and with intimate knowledge, He determines how to make us more fruitful and more beautiful. He knows where we’re hardened, the woody old stuff that needs to go. He sees those places in us where there’s a constant rub, a chafing or irritation—those things that open us to attack or distract us from our purpose. He identifies the spindly, non-productive sprouts that crowd out the energy and air that other endeavors need. He finds our sideshoots, those that take away from our beauty and rebel against His design. He tenderly notes where we’ve been injured and where more light needs to penetrate. He discerns the strong healthy branches and knows how to make them more productive (John 15:2).
His pruning will show off His touch in our lives (John 15:8-9).
This lesson in how and why He prunes has been a useful countermeasure in neutralizing the apprehension I felt about “being pruned.” Have you felt that apprehension as well?
What about when He prunes? In her article, “The Gift of Continual Pruning,” Linnea Orians makes a heartening point. She tells about observing the pruning of apple trees on a nearby farm. From her close vantage point, it is apparent that pruning is not just a one time or even occasional event, but a recurring process. She says our “weaknesses have to be revisited and continually cared for.” Yes, under His care it becomes our way of life. Orians continues, “Abiding in him so that he can tend to my imperfections is a gift. There is immense mercy shown in trimming what can be fruitful, instead of disregarding it. It is care to the highest extent.”
I’m grateful for His gift of new perspective (Psalm 16:7-8). He has helped me see my need and focus on His faithful care. His pruning is quite likely an answer to my own prayers (2 Thessalonians 1:11). I am convinced that I prefer He tend rather than neglect—and even in this, a flaw in my thinking has been pruned away.
For the LORD is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations (Psalm 100:5).
If you enjoyed this post I recommend a previous post, Three Lessons from the Field, which includes other comforting reassurances from Jesus’s metaphor, “You are God’s field (1 Corinthians 3:9).
I grew up on a small farm in South Carolina, and there were fields on three sides of our house. Truly the fourth side, our front yard, was pretty much a field as well; it was just cared for with a lawn mower instead of a tractor.
As kids we worked in those fields way too often for our taste. Every spring we set out plants, and then hoed the rows and picked vegetables all summer. The fields were also our playground. We built play houses with the green bean stakes, collected mud to make pottery, sleuthed animal tracks (and their droppings), and had dirt clod fights with plywood shields that my older brother made.
The fields became a byway of sorts. We tromped through them to get to other places of adventure, usually the woods, but also Eleazer’s little store or my grandparents’ house. My Aunt Jean lived with my grandparents and was a nurserywoman, so her fields were dedicated to shrubbery and flowers. I remember even before I started school, I would slip down the path to be with her. We would collect dirt from the woods and sift it through wooden frames with wire mesh bottoms to filter out roots and hard fragments. As time passed, her field closest to our house contained rows of boxwood where we played hide and seek with our cousins.
All kinds of childhood memories took place in a field, so when I read these words in 1 Corinthians, I stopped and reread them several times. In the middle of the ninth verse of Chapter 3, I read, “You are God’s field.”
I don’t remember ever reading that before.
“You are God’s field… ” (1 Corinthians 3:9). I am God’s field! I found “field” can also be translated as garden or vineyard.
“O Lord, these are exciting words for me! I know what happens in fields and gardens! You have immersed me in gardening adventures for years and given me a square foot garden of my own for over three decades, so my experiences cry out to me of the riches to be discovered in this metaphor. Let’s stay with this verse awhile. As I tarry there, walk with me in the furrows and delight me with Your truth.”
The first lesson is that “You are God’s garden,” implies possession. It says to me that I am His! This is true in the sense that I was created by God (Psalm 100:3), my body fashioned and knit together by His hands (Psalm 119:73, 139:13). It’s also true in that through repentance and faith in Him, Christ has redeemed me, forgiven my sin, and has adopted me into His family (Ephesians 1:5-7).
And second, since I am God’s garden, this indicates that He is my Gardener! (I do remember reading that before, in John 15:1).
This speaks to me in a deep place as I recall what gardeners do. I picture my mom pouring over seed catalogs and my dad coming home with tomato plants he had purchased. I can envision him on his tractor pulling the disc harrow topped with cement blocks so it will cut deep into the ground. I remember us setting out many rows of tomato plants and watching little beans and okra and corn seedlings emerge from the ground. I hear the sound of Aunt Jean’s sprinklers watering huge areas. Recalling the earthy fragrance and humid warmth of her greenhouse, I retrace how cuttings were rooted, misted, and nurtured in trays before they were potted. I see my own hands as they wage war against the attack of beetles that would devour my green beans. And, gracious, the delight in the gardens and the boasting? From start to finish it never ended!
God has a plan for me just as my parents did for their fields. He cultivates and waters (John 4:13-14; Isaiah 55:1, 58:11), just as I saw our family do. With tender care He nurtures and trains me. As Aunt Jean used her pruning shears, He prunes as needed to bring about my growth (John 15:2). As I’ve labored to do in my own garden, He protects me and provides for me, doing all that’s necessary for me to be fruitful. Like all gardeners I’ve observed, He takes delight all along the way (Psalm 18:19, 35:27, Jeremiah 32:41).
The third lesson? I discovered some comforting reassurances in this metaphor of God’s field. Since gardens require cultivation to eventually produce according to a gardener’s plan, I grasp that this is very true of me too. I’m unable to take root, mature, or be fruitful by myself — I need the Gardener to foster my growth. Not only that, He doesn’t expect me grow by my own meager effort (John 15:5). Heknows I need cultivation. He will nurture and tend, and lovingly provide all I need as I abide in Him (John 15:7-8).
I’ve seen too that both plants and gardens have phases when they seem unproductive, even unpleasing to the eye. Every phase is an important step in reaching maturity, which takes time. Furthermore, each stage is assigned its own purpose and place in time. This reassures me as I experience these seasons. I know they aren’t unprofitable, they aren’t inappropriate, nor are they useless (Romans 8:28). Knowing my Gardener, I can embrace these seasons as appointed and necessary times. They are valuable in His sight!
“Thank You my Heavenly Gardener for Your truth and these lessons from Your fields. I am comforted knowing that my cultivation is in Your hand, all my times are in Your hand (Psalm 31:14-15), and You delight in the stages of my development (Psalm 147:11). I am blessed at a deeper level in knowing You in this new way. It helps me to receive Your tender care, even the pruning away of striving and notions of self-reliance, that I may rest more quietly in Your timing and appointed seasons. As I share these lessons from the field, I pray my readers will also know You in a new way and receive Your blessings and comfort.”
The beautiful vegetable garden photo in this post was taken by a new friend and used with her permission. She and her husband also let me roam their farm and take photos for this post. The field in the feature photo, all the grapevines, and the farm equipment were taken there. I’m grateful for their hospitality and the delight of sharing old memories with new friends.
