Pruning to Produce Fruit

He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more.

John 15:3 NLT

Today I finally got around to pruning some of my succulents that had grown forlorn and leggy. About a year ago, I watched a video on how to prune and repot succulents, and I was amazed at the process. All you do is pull the plant out of the soil, roots and all, cut off the long, leggy portion so what’s left is the full, compact part you want to show, and stick the freshly cut stem back into the soil. The cut stem then produces new roots! Kind of an upside down version of the traditional process of pruning and growing that takes place with most plants.

Usually, gardeners prune the dead external parts away so plants grow more efficiently and produce more fruit. Succulents will grow and thrive when you cut off their established internal life support, their roots. They just put down more roots, and keep growing towards the light. They are an illustration of persevering through growth.

Then I got to thinking about pruning, and the how the process looks in our human lives. God uses our circumstances and experiences to grow us. He prunes away the pieces that are draining the life out of us. Sometimes, the pruning can be painful. But the painful times often produce the best lessons, and bear the sweetest fruit.

The year after my divorce was a time of pruning. So focused on the bitter and unfair season I was living through, I wasn’t aware of the dead stuff being stripped away. I fought against the pruning with every cell of my being. This was a succulent-type pruning; I was unceremoniously pulled up by the roots and severed in two.

A mother of two small children who were only with me half the time, I oscillated between overwhelmed and desperately lonely. Too much. Too little. I went to night school to become a teacher just so I could be with my kids more. I drank a lot. I sat on my friend’s couch and cried a lot. I could not conceive why any of this was happening to me.

I couldn’t see that God was teaching me to finally grow up and be self-sufficient. And that I could be a whole person while living on my own. That maybe the mold I so readily jumped into, that of dutiful housewife, wasn’t the mold that was meant for me. This pruning required a complete replanting; a cutting off of the roots I had established, and the choice to either put down new roots, or wither away.

The year I stopped drinking was another time of pruning. I tried several times to quit in prior years and failed. In those first months I was walking a tightrope, holding my breath, praying not to fall again. I counted days, I counted blessings, I counted on myself for the first time in a long time. I collected regrets then blew them away and watched them scatter like dandelion whisps. I started showing up. To work, to kids’ practices, and for myself, not grudgingly but to really be there.

This time, I could see the pruning taking place and I was even helping it along. It was a pruning to help me grow, much as a rose bush is pruned to produce more abundant, beautiful roses in the spring. The shedding and leaving behind of old ways of thinking. The growing of a new mindset. Despite it being difficult and requiring daily effort, I knew I was growing toward the light.

I could see that God was teaching me the art of surrender. Removing the idol that I poured out every day and drank in, thirsty for love and acceptance and peace. Pouring out his love, acceptance and peace in its place.

Sometimes pruning is painful and we rail against it. It seems so unfair and unjust at the time. It strips us of our dignity and our belief in the fundamental goodness of life. It can even strip us of our foundation, our roots. Sometimes pruning strengthens us and makes us grow more healthy and beautiful. We can see that this pruning is needed and that, while difficult, we have faith that the outcome will be a more fruitful life.

And I see now that God prunes us by teaching us. And the process of learning is the removal of dead parts–behaviors, beliefs and actions that are harmful to us–so that fruitful limbs can grow in their place.

The next time you are going through a season of pruning…trust that the lessons will follow. It is up to you whether you choose to let the experience allow you to bear fruit or wither away.

May you be fruitful.