“Every branch in Me that does not bare fruit, He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit.” – John 15:2 NASB

I hated to do it, but the directions on the box said I had to. 

Three weeks earlier, I and another green-thumbed week-end warrior (a perfect stranger, though obvious kindred spirit in the flower department) planted ourselves in the garden aisle at Costco and spent the next thirty minutes pulling half of the spring rose inventory off the over-stocked shelves, giving thoughtful consideration to the picture on every value-priced box.

In the end, the fragrant sunset-inspired Love and Peace Hybrid Tea Rose was my hands-down choice. But with enough boxed rose bushes to landscape the west end of London’s Hyde Park now spilling into the adjacent aisles, I lost sight of my green-thumbed friend and will regretfully never know what brilliant selection she made.

After re-shelving the runners up from the overflowing aisle, I put Love and Peace in my cart atop the three-month supply of paper towels and brought my new rose home. 

Early February is no time to plant roses, so my “hands-down choice” spent the next few weeks in the garage. But one spring morning, when the temperature promised to reach a warm 75 degrees, it was time for Love and Peace to find a new home.

More than excited, I scooped up the best dirt, made an 8-inch mound, and planted the root ball at ground level in the old terra cotta pot I bought at a local Spanish mercado and had managed to “keep alive” since our long-ago days in the Air Force.

Then came the bad news.

The directions on the box said to prune any long canes from the bush “to promote growth and abundant blooming.” Seriously? The sanctity of three weeks in a semi-insulated garage had produced several lovely long green shoots—one with a legitimate bud ready to bloom any minute.

Thrilled with this unexpected growth and eager to see the “well-formed bicolor blooms against leathery, deep-green leaves” that had wooed me in Costco, I tried to put the offensive directions out of my mind. I looked around for a watering can, but the words “to promote growth and abundant blooming,” kept ringing in my ears. 

So, I did it.

With a regretful sigh, I trudged to the potting shed, begrudgingly rummaged through my rusty garden tools, found my snippers, and in the name of “promoting growth and abundant blooming,” started pruning. With one last guilty clip, the long green stem with the rosebud fell to the ground.

Does God feel this way when He prunes us? Does He feel guilty as He wields the pruners in moments when He must know we are trying our best to bloom? Does He wince when He snips away the green shoots of comfort and security we so carefully guard? Is He satisfied to leave well enough alone when He sees us surviving in dry pots with weak and broken stems?

Scripture tells us no.

The Master Gardener knows the cold steel of pruners in March will ensure strong, abundant, sweet-smelling blooms in May. Made in His image, He cherishes what His children are created to “look like” and will choose the wisest ways to make that happen.

When He removes what is fruitless—He is making room for His best.

By cutting away all that threatens to distract and enslave us—He is making room for His best.

When He prunes the comfortable and predictable—He is making room for His best.

He is making room for His Love and Peace to bloom in our lives.

Yesterday, in the cool evening hours after a warm spring day, our little granddaughter helped me water the thirsty plants thriving in the garden. Suddenly, she spied the brilliant tricolored petals of the Love and Peace Rose blooming in the old Spanish pot.

“Look Grammy, that flower looks just like a sunset!”

I turned and gazed down to see the brilliantly glowing shades of an evening sky painted across every petal of the huge roses rising tall and abundantly from the terra cotta pot and had the sudden thought of pruners.

“Yes, it does, Darlin’. Yes, it does.”