Top Ten List: Garden Lessons Learned

In my last post, I shared about a lesson learned one day last month when I spent the afternoon attacking a garden patch that had been sorely overlooked. The lush green foliage deceptively hid its true identity - a massive pack of weeds. Entering into the belly of beast, I had no idea the many lessons I was about to learn. Here's my Top Ten in random order:

1. There is no "before" picture. Why? First of all, I wasn't expecting a spiritual lesson. I was just planning to do a job that I hated, but had to be done. Yet God found me there. When we remain open to hearing His voice, we may hear from Him in unexpected places. 

Cutting away the good....

Colorado had unquenchable fires then uncontrollable floods.

In New Jersey, the reverse.

The flood from last year's record-breaking "super storm" "perfect storm" Sandy left the Jersey shore, particularly the Seaside areas, reeling.

Then this week, a destructive fire on the Seaside boardwalk, newly restored after the devastating flood, caused the loss of 68 businesses and close to $2 million in damage.

I'm no expert in firefighting, but news reports of both the Colorado and New Jersey fires reported a similar strategy. In Colorado, intentional boundary fires were set to control the path of the blaze and limit the destruction. 

In New Jersey, a section of the boardwalk was cut out creating a gap to contain the fire and prevent it from spreading:

In normal circumstances, setting a fire or cutting the boardwalk would be criminal. But in these situations, the experts knew it was necessary to destroy something good in order to prevent further widespread destruction.

Jesus had something to say about cutting away something good for the better. 

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." John 15:1-2

Did you catch that? Every branch that DOES bear fruit, He prunes. Why? So that it can be even more fruitful. 

Hanging in my office, I have what once was a lovely lush philodendren that is now stringy and sparse. My neglect allowed it to grow longer and longer. Had I trimmed it, it'd be much fuller. So recently I lopped off some perfectly good branches to stimulate new growth.  

In my garden, I have to cut away seemingly perfectly good branches because they become "suckers." If left to grow, they will draw precious fruit or flower-bearing energy away from the rest of the plant. 

Now if the boardwalk planks could talk, I'm sure they'd be screaming when the firefighters took their axes to them. The Colorado boundary trees might argue that the fire is over there, don't torch us! Or my plants would weep when I approached with my scissors. 

In life, sometimes we have to choose to eliminate some seemingly perfect activities or opportunities. And sometimes, God the Gardner removes them for us. Why? Because He loves us. Because He doesn't neglect us. Because He knows what's best for us. 

When such situations occur, we must remember that despite the pain of loss, it's for our own protection or fruitfulness. We can trust the Master Gardener to prune at the right time, using the right tools, removing the right branches, for the right purpose. 

Have you been pruned? How can I pray for you, beloved? 

When must we NOT show mercy?

When must we NOT show mercy?

This is the first, but surely not the last, you will read about my gardening experiences. I find so many illustrations about the Christian life when I am tending my garden. Maybe that’s why it all began in a garden.

The truth is: I have a love/hate relationship with my garden. Oh, how I love the blooms, the fragrance, the sheer beauty that shows its face each spring. Oh, how I hate the seemingly endless care that it requires. And to be honest, I’m not the most gifted gardener. But, I try.

Today, I was attacking an overgrown hydrangea with the pruning shears. Perhaps “attacking” is too strong a word, but I think the hydrangea would disagree. From the plant’s point of view, I seemed just vicious, showing no mercy. But in fact, I was saving its life. There were shoots of dead wood, and if left intact, they would have a negative impact on the rest of the plant, as well as the other plants in the garden, especially the peony next door.

At times, I feared I was too aggressive, but I’ve had this hydrangea a long time. We’ve been through this before, and from past experience, I know that this seemingly harsh treatment is very beneficial. My hydrangea rewards me every summer with a bounty of blooms because with the life-sucking shoots gone, its energy can be directed toward new life.

As Christians, we are instructed to show mercy. Jesus says “God blesses those who are merciful, for they will be shown mercy.” (Matt. 5:7). Mercy is the very hallmark of the Christian. But there are times when what appears to be mercy isn’t. 

When a friend or loved one is engaged in dangerous behavior, they need boundaries and consequences, not an enabler. When sin is crouching at our door, it needs a swift kick right out that door. When envy or bitterness or resentment start slithering under our skin, we need to uproot and destroy it. Just a few verses after Jesus teaches about mercy, He says, 

“If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.” (Matt. 5:39) 

Ouch, well, that doesn’t seem too merciful to the eye, does it? No, but sin is like gangrene. It may start small, but unless it is amputated and removed, it will spread causing death and destruction.

So the truly merciful thing to do is nip it in the bud, just like my hydrangea. 

When must we NOT show mercy?

This is the first, but surely not the last, you will read about my gardening experiences. I find so many illustrations about the Christian life when I am tending my garden. Maybe that’s why it all began in a garden.

The truth is: I have a love/hate relationship with my garden. Oh, how I love the blooms, the fragrance, the sheer beauty that shows its face each spring. Oh, how I hate the seemingly endless care that it requires. And to be honest, I’m not the most gifted gardener. But, I try.

Today, I was attacking an overgrown hydrangea with the pruning shears. Perhaps “attacking” is too strong a word, but I think the hydrangea would disagree. From the plant’s point of view, I seemed just vicious, showing no mercy. But in fact, I was saving its life. There were shoots of dead wood, and if left intact, they would have a negative impact on the rest of the plant, as well as the other plants in the garden, especially the peony next door.

At times, I feared I was too aggressive, but I’ve had this hydrangea a long time. We’ve been through this before, and from past experience, I know that this seemingly harsh treatment is very beneficial. My hydrangea rewards me every summer with a bounty of blooms because with the life-sucking shoots gone, its energy can be directed toward new life.

As Christians, we are instructed to show mercy. Jesus says “God blesses those who are merciful, for they will be shown mercy.” (Matt. 5:7). Mercy is the very hallmark of the Christian. But there are times when what appears to be mercy isn’t. When a friend or loved one is engaged in dangerous behavior, they need boundaries and consequences, not an enabler. When sin is crouching at our door, it needs a swift kick right out that door. When envy or bitterness or resentment start slithering under our skin, we need to uproot and remove it. Just a few verses after Jesus teaches about mercy, He says, “If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.” (Matt. 5:39) Oooh, well, that doesn’t seem too merciful to the eye, does it? No, but sin is like gangrene. It may start small, but unless it is amputated and removed, it will spread causing death and destruction.

So the truly merciful thing to do is nip it in the bud, just like my hydrangea.

Susan