This past weekend, I started the lengthy process of catching up on garden cleanup. Catch-up, because, as it turns out, having a baby meant my gardening ceased for awhile—-I’d planned on that, to some extent, but it still surprised me how wild things got over the long, hot summer when left unattended. A few months ago, I tackled the front garden over a long weekend, and now there’s just the backyard gardens and the gully garden left in a state of disarray. Haha—I’ve got a long way to go!

One task I’d be doing anyway this time of year is pruning, though, arguably there’s way more this year than most because of my summer & fall of neglectful gardening. Pruning is one of those jobs that, if left un-done, won’t necessarily always be harmful. Many plants will still continue to grow and flower and produce fruit without pruning. The thing is that they won’t be quite as full of fruit, as full of flower, or their fruits and flowers will be less than they would be if the plants were given a hard prune at the right time.

An experienced gardener knows her plants. She knows which ones respond well to pruning and which to leave alone. She knows what time of year is best for the pruning that does need to be done (For example, all those not-so-knowledgeable landscapers who go around pruning folks’ azaleas this time of year into little boxy hedges! They’re cutting off all the blossoms before they have a chance to bloom! The correct time for azalea pruning is right after they’ve bloomed—-this way you can shape them without losing future blooms!), and she knows how intensely to prune the plant: Is it just a trim? Does the plant respond best to a hard prune, cutting 1/3 of the plant down? etc.

Last summer, in my pregnant-get-everything-done state, I forgot a few crucial jobs. Pruning my rambling rose was one of those things. We inherited the rose with our house, and while I’m sure the area it was planted in originally had more sun, when I found it, it was struggling along in mostly shade. I moved it to a sunnier spot, gave it a trellis, and it took off! I was rewarded with a beautiful show of fluffy pink blooms the first few years. Then came last year: We had a very wet spring, and powdery mildew set it, stressing the plant and ruining most of the blooms. Had I pruned, opening up the plant for more airflow, I probably could have avoided the powdery mildew all together.

This year, I wanted to make sure we didn’t miss out on the rambling rose. When I marched outside in my rose-pruning gear (leather gloves included!), I laughed at what I was dealing with:

The rose had completely eaten the trellis I thought would contain it, and, as you can see, was spilling out into the garden in every direction. There were even rose canes headed over the fence into the gully garden! I’ll admit, there’s a beauty to something that’s growing so intensely, but I also know the damp spring and powdery mildew is just around the corner…So I set out on my pruning adventure.

I’d read an article in a gardening magazine about a British gardener who weaves her rambling and climbing rose canes into fences, creating embankments of woven plant material that then makes a wall of bloom during the bloom season. I loved that idea, so I decided to give it a try. I knew it’d be a pretty serious prune, but then, also, I know this particular plant is nothing if not good at growing! There were some dead canes to get rid of, so I did that part first, and then there was the big chop. So I went for it. Several hours later, the rose had lost all of this:

And after I’d spent a bit of time figuring out how to weave the canes so that they’d stand up by themselves, the rose was looking like this:

I’m belaboring the point a bit, I know, but all of this description of my pruning of one plant I share to say: Pruning is a deliberate, careful act by a gardener. When done well, it’s something that’s the result of thought and care, always with the very best outcome for the plant’s long term health in mind.

I’m sure, by now, John 15 is ringing in our ears: “I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. 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. You have already been pruned and purified by the message I have given you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot produce fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful unless you remain in me.

Something that I find interesting about this passage is the way Jesus says the disciples have already been pruned and purified by the message he’s given them. What is it about this message that clips away the deadened parts and prunes the living shoots so that they can reach their full growth potential? Love has a way of doing that, I think—-the old things, the ones that don’t really serve us, become less necessary, fall away, and the parts of us that are meant to take off are trained in the direction of love, pruned along the way to reach their full glory.

Pruning seems severe sometimes. Maybe you’ve just exited a season that felt like a hard prune. Is there new growth already developing in you a result, or does it still seem stark and bare? Maybe you feel a shift in this season of life: Is there a pruning coming? Areas that you know will grow if you submit them to Love’s skillful shears?

May we all have grace in the seasons of pruning, knowing the fruits of the Spirit are growing stronger in and through us. May we have eyes to see the blooms that will surely come. Amen.