Seasons - Tarry There

Pruning: A New Perspective

Posted on March 5, 20238 Comments

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.

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).

Evidence of the Unseen

Posted on April 26, 20214 Comments

Seeing those little green tips emerge from the ground thrills me every spring. Here in my garden, it’s the signal that Daffodils or Hostas are coming to life. They are welcome harbingers, issuing forth that anticipatory sign that the season is changing and warmer weather is really returning.

This year the daffodil tips broke ground the week of Christmas, and began blooming the first week in March. I could see them from the breakfast room window. You can probably imagine what I did most every day during that 10-week period. Yes, I would peek out the window to check on them, wondering how they would manage in the cold, the ice, and the seemingly unending periods of rain. I would imagine how they were going to look in bloom.

Now the Hostas, are emerging, and again, I’m enchanted.

Part of my fascination with them is that one day I seeing nothing, and the next day there’s something mysteriously coming forth, something fresh — a verdant green that contrasts with the faded mulch and dried dead leaves. While I was unaware, in the hard, cold, dark earth, plenty was going on, a glorious work. The emerging shoots are evidence of that unseen process.

Let me pause to ask – have you ever cut open a daffodil or tulip bulb and looked inside? If not, get an onion or garlic clove, which are similar to flower bulbs, and cut one from top to bottom. Flower bulbs also have those white outer layers seen in the onion or garlic and the green shoot you see in the middle when it’s aged a bit. The white outer layers are filled with food the new plant will need to grow. That little greenish shoot in the center is the flower and leaves, already formed, that will emerge from the ground. Everything for the blooming season is already developed and stored in the bulb, flowers and all!

After they bloom each year, the remaining greenery uses photosynthesis to build up the energy stores that will enable them to bloom the following year. When the foliage turns to yellow and brown, the energy moves down into the bulb. As they prepare for a time of dormancy in the winter, new bulbs are produced and they grow roots to take in water. As the temperature drops and the days grow shorter, the bulbs know it’s time to rest. Hormones are produced that tell them when to start growing again, and they use the stored energy to push the leaves and flowers up through the ground. Although Hostas aren’t true bulbs, they too have that period of dormancy and save energy in their crown for the next growing season.

I’m stunned by the magnificence of the biological process. I’m drawn to worship as it speaks to me of the One who has designed it all. Yet there’s more here to discern than the biological process; there are some treasures to mine, and in the darkest part of my year, these fresh green shoots are just the visual I need.

They exhibit for me that God is at work even when I can’t see it. When I feel I’m in a dark time, there is a work taking place. Like in a bulb, the nature of the work in my heart requires it be unseen, but with time His handiwork becomes evident. Moreover, I cannot look to external circumstances and appearances to gauge reality. I am encouraged, in faith, to focus my thoughts on God, His nature and His promises, and believe on Him as my only reliable resource for truth. Faith is “… the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1).”

The emerging tips also stir feelings of hope. They give me reason to expect the growth and beauty that will follow. My spirits are lifted as they prompt me to look forward with anticipation of what is to come. These hints of what’s ahead whisper to me of our ultimate hope in Christ. It is a hope that will not disappoint (Romans 5:5), for through Christ’s resurrection we obtain an inheritance that’s incorruptible, reserved in heaven, and kept by the power of God through faith (I Peter 1:3-5).

Their emergence from the ground makes me wonder how they were able to push up through the soil and layers of mulch, why they came up so fresh and clean and green after pushing through dirt, and why they don’t freeze. I notice that sometimes a cluster of tips will lift a clump of packed mulch or a single tip may slice through a dead leaf as it grows. In all of this, they inspire me to persevere and rely on God for strength. He provides all they need to thrive. As my heavenly Father I trust He will do the same for me (2 Peter 1:3).

“O Lord Your lovingkindness is so abundant towards us! These visuals you provide in nature are a means to rehearse your truth and reflect on Your character, to meditate on Your promises and lean into Your presence. Build in us a faith that pleases You and provides the hope of this inheritance. Thank You for Your mercy and for providing all we need for life and godliness.”

I dedicate this post to the memory of a dear follower of Tarry There who passed into the loving arms of Christ since my last post. Donna loved Jesus and like me, enjoyed His presence in the garden. I’ve been told she had many Hostas in her garden! I know her faith has become sight and look forward to conversations with her in the gardens of the new earth.

Three Lessons from the Field

Posted on February 23, 20218 Comments

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). He knows 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.

Autumn Meditation

Posted on October 5, 20203 Comments

As the season has changed to fall, we’ve experienced shorter days, some cooler temperatures, and a good drenching of rain. As it poured, I peered through the storm door several times to search for hints of color or any visuals that autumn had arrived, but there were none. After the rainy days, we ventured out for some birding at Latta Plantation Nature Preserve. The only leaves showing fall color were a couple of red-tinged dogwood trees. But there were other signs of fall I savored, especially the aroma. Likely from all the grasses and wildflowers, it smelled like fall! It also sounded like fall. The insects were buzzing rhythmically, and the birds were conversant and darting about in small flocks. The lighting was lazy and the atmosphere seemed different. We walked the Hill Trail and lingered in different spots, listening.

For me, fall usually starts out as a rude interruption. With sadness I remember the summer warmth and all the outdoor fun, our backyard gatherings, my garden, the flowers, our beach trips, and the long hours of sunlight. I peer into the distance, see the harshness of winter is coming, and consider the passing of time and my own preparedness for what may come. On this day I wanted to move past the bump and embrace the season! In this beautiful setting I began to relax, and that fall feeling I had been looking for came, peacefully descending on me in a spirit of trust.

There on the hill, listening for the call of birds and hearing the rustle of the tall grasses, I thought of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem, “The Autumn.” It begins this way:

Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them —
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.

Wow — I do like this opening stanza! I like her imperative to “Go.” Browning instructs us to take our lesson on a hill, where we just sit. We are to look around, taking it in, being still. I appreciate too the way she conveys what she hears. The woods and the waters “hymn an autumn sound.” She invites us to hear them singing a song of praise. Then she addresses our heart, our musing heart. Muse means to reflect deeply on a subject, so she’s acknowledging our need to meditate. The poem continues:

How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.

Yes! Browning takes us back to the place we’ve been during the summer and says to tarry there again. She acknowledges we often remember and compare our experience now with what we had before. Reading through the remaining stanzas, Browning compares the changes in the wind and woods as symbolic of the transitions in our lives, and gives us a way to move on. (I hope you’ll hang on for the end.)

Oh! Like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!

The dearest hands that clasp our hands, —
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.

Hear not the wind — view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill —
In spring, the sky encircled them —
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold —
Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.

Here in the last stanza Browning tells us once we’ve acknowledged those things that grieve us in life’s transitions, we can now change our focus. She tells us to “look out.” We’re exhorted to redirect our focus over the valleys and hills to the sky that encircles. The sky’s still there just as it was before! The scathe of the season, the harshness we see and feel, that sense of being out of control — Heaven is still over all!

Oh reader, God is still with us! In these seemingly desolate times as we grieve so many changes and long for what was, let us lift our eyes to Heaven’s throne. For “The Lord has established His throne in the Heavens, and His kingdom rules over all (Psalm 103:19).” There is nothing He does not rule over! There is no time He does not rule over (Psalm 31:15). Nations and kings are in His hands (Psalm 47:8-9). He is almighty (Deuteronomy 10:17), and nothing is difficult for Him (Jeremiah 32:27). The Lord is able to deliver (2 Kings 17:39) and preserves all who love Him (John 10:29). He is able to do exceedingly abundantly more than we ask or think (Ephesians 3:20).

“Oh Lord, we lift our eyes to the hills, but our help comes from You, maker of Heaven and earth. You will not allow our foot to slip, for You are our keeper; You preserve our going out and coming in – even our souls! Close the door of our minds to questions about Your sovereignty or Your good and kind intentions. For You are righteous in all Your ways and gracious in all Your works. You are trustworthy, performing all that You have promised. Keep us O Lord, I pray.”*

If you are on this journey of faith with the One true God, go, sit again where you’ve been with Him before. Meditate on His promises and seek Him. Fan the flame of your hope (Psalm 62:5). He does restore our souls (Psalm 23:3)! With each reminder of who He is, be thrilled all over again. Be encouraged that he has enabled you to persevere. Delight in who He wants to be for you in this season. Tell about Him and all His wonders (Psalm 9:1-2)!

This prayer includes verses from Psalm 121 and 145. Other Psalms I’ve found very helpful in times of transition are Psalm 103 and 116. In each of these the Psalmist is speaking to his own soul. He defeats discouragement and unbelief by remembering the truth about God’s nature and His kind intentions.
I’ve published a new page called Interesting Finds! It contains a collection of recent discoveries that caught my eye and brought fresh joy in God’s creativity. Enjoy browsing! The page can be found on the menu dropdown, so as you come back to the site, take a look for new finds.