Horticulture, revisited

I have been ruminating on the horticulture illustration, about which I wrote not too long ago. So, a slightly different take, this time around:

In the art of horticulture, the grafted branch is chosen for its ability to bear fruit. To dig deep, and produce good fruit, according to its purpose. But its roots are weak. And so, it is torn from its old environment, and spliced into the new. And then, as it grows, it is often transplanted or pruned, so that it will produce the best possible fruit.

Sometimes, I wonder if the branch (like, oh say, me) complains. It's not comfortable. It feels out of place. It's not like the other branches on the tree. It doesn't feel like it's producing as much fruit as before. Pruning hurts. And it has to be utterly and completely dependent on the root.

This past Thursday was a melting point for me. I had barely made it out the door before the tears began to flow. Before I left Winston-Salem, one of my advocates at Redeemer prayed that I would get lost at Chapel Hill, so that I would be forced to ask for directions. Well, Thursday night, I felt lost. Alone. Empty. And not able to do much at all. All the doubts, worries, and insecurities were overwhelming. And the voices in my head accusing me would not be quiet. I felt like a branch severed from its comfort zone, out of place, and barren.

Yet the branch is not bound to the root nor pruned for the purpose of the pain, although that is involved; not because it cannot bear fruit, because it naturally has the ability to bear fruit. Rather, it is re-planted, pruned, and transplanted because the good gardener knows that the branch will produce far richer, better fruit, when it is rooted solidly in good soil and well-pruned. When it has to depend on the good root for its sustenance and nutrients. This is completely counter-intuitive to our culture, which teaches self-sufficiency, independence, and isolation. The branch has to be dependent, otherwise, it will wither and die. Pruning always takes the branch back to the root and the tree, as the parts closest to the sustenance are the most healthy. For Christians, the analogy is much the same. We have to be dependent, both on God (the vine and the gardener) and on the body (the rest of the tree), or we too will wither and die. Our own strength is not enough to sustain us. And the old root never did.

So, when I got home on Thursday, I called a good friend, who knows me well, and loves me despite my weaknesses. Speaking truth in love, she reminded me of who I am in Christ. She reminded me that I am weak. I am unable. And I was looking to myself to be all, do all, and, as the frosting on the cake, make everyone think that I was cool. And I was failing. I was depending on myself, and looking to others for my worth. Yet, she also reminded me of the strength of the root, the wisdom of the gardener, and my own need to depend upon the vine. The truth of the matter is, I am created in the image of God; my worth is defined by him. And yes, I will fail on my own strength. But His strength is enough. The root is strong and dependable, and when we rely on it, we will grow. The old root is dying. Self-sufficiency will get us nowhere. And while the transplant is hard, and does not feel all pretty, warm, and fuzzy, the gardener knows what He is doing.

The first transplant which we undergo is being grafting into the vine, joining God's family. Yet as the years progress, he again and again calls us to trust Him, drinking deeply from the root, as he replants us, challenges us, and prunes us for our good and his glory. Always, we are called to depend on the good root, bearing fruit as a result of His nutrients.

Yet for the sake of growth, for the sake of better, for the sake of glory, sometimes the Gardener makes the cut, and takes the branch out of its comfort zone, into a new, strange environment. And while it hurts, and it takes time for the branch to bear fruit, the Gardener knows what he is doing. He is preparing for the feast. He is taking ordinary fruit and transforming it into a one of a kind masterpiece which only He could dream up.

Solidly rooted, deeply grown, sweet, beautiful, magnificent, and far better than that grown in the backyard orchard. For the sake of glory, we endure the pain and discomfort of transplantation, because ultimately, we know that the Gardener is for us. And He knows what He is doing.