I was instantly enthralled with the garden outside our local library the first time I saw it over two years ago. With varying shades of green and vibrant pops of yellow, orange, and red flowers mixed throughout it, my oldest son and I soon found ourselves walking along one of the dirt-packed pathways, where we watched butterflies flutter by and saw lizards scurrying about as they looked for a place to hide.
Our short journey took us further into the garden and to a wooden bench where we rested for a short while under the covering of shrubs and trees. That day, the garden felt magical to me, as if there were secrets within to discover and behold. Although I have not spent much time in that garden since then due to the often-insufferable Texas heat, my children and I still generally take the garden path that leads to the library whenever we go. And we still see the butterflies and pops of color as the lizards scurry below.
As winter gave way to spring this year, I noticed how much the garden had been neglected during one library visit. Weeds covered the walkways, and the shrubs were overgrown into a tangled mess. It was sad to see what had become of it. We didn’t take the garden path that time. We couldn’t with everything so overgrown. With my oldest son busy with school and my own busyness after having begun a part-time job later that spring, we didn’t make it to the library much after that. We’ve been to the library a few times this summer, however, and the most recent time we went, I noticed that the garden looked less unkempt this time. Someone had trimmed back the plants a bit, and although the weeds were still running wild, there weren’t as many. The garden was starting to get the care it needed.
Although I do not know if the garden will ever be restored to its former glory, I see the beauty of it in this stage—in the midst of wild things. The trees and shrubs are still vibrant alongside the pops of color from the flowers. And the butterflies are still enjoying this garden along with the lizards that find shelter under the shrubs. There is beauty in the life that is teeming within this place. The wildness and weeds haven’t taken away from that. But I also see the beauty of this place because I know what this garden once was and what it could once again be. It has a lot of potential. With the right care, this garden could become a place of solace once again with areas to explore and secrets to unfold.
When I think about the garden in this way, I recognize how good it would do me to view people like this, especially the ones that are rough around the edges—the wild ones.
We all have inherent value and beauty because we were created in God’s image. But how much potential we all have to become even more lovely when we surrender to our Maker and allow Him to prune and weed us, planting seeds in us that will ultimately cause us to look more like Him!
I want the garden at our local library to represent that to me. I want to see people through the lens in which God sees them. And, in recognizing their potential, particularly for the ones that are a little harder to love naturally, I want to find myself showing greater compassion and kindness to them. To see their value and realize what a treasure they are to God. Because ultimately, we are all gardens in progress. So, let’s express God’s love to each other, asking Him to help us to further surrender to the work of His hands as He tends to the garden that is our lives.
I keep thinking about the palm tree in our front yard—the one we tried to uproot earlier this year. With only a couple of green, half-inch patches peeking out of its branches, I took it for dead.
A few weeks later, with JJ’s approval and only a hand shovel at my disposal, I began to dig away at that tree with great fervor and optimism. A half hour later, however, my enthusiasm had diminished. Sweat was dripping off my face as I accepted defeat against the unmoving palm tree. It didn’t get much better when JJ and I bought a normal-sized shovel and he had his turn tearing it up, either.
As the sun began to set that evening, our yard was littered with dirt and severed roots, but the center root remained intact, firmly anchoring the storm-weathered tree to solid ground.
We considered our options and finally decided we’d leave the tree alone for a few more weeks. Perhaps there was still life to be found in the tiny plant considering the great strength it had exhibited that day. I’d give it some extra care in the weeks to follow, and if we didn’t see any growth at that time, we’d figure out how to be rid of it once and for all.
Surprisingly, the tree had grown an inch alone by the very next morning, and green was lining the bottom of its branches as they spread out and continued to grow. Today, that palm tree is the greenest plant in our front yard—still tiny, but bursting with life and growing stronger and bigger each day.
I think of this palm tree often, because our lives as a family seem to parallel its story. We’ve experienced our own personal storms; we’ve faced the elements of desert living. And the harshness of the climate these past few years has made it difficult to recognize much growth. Sometimes it has felt like we have not been fully living at all. But then I’m reminded that growth isn’t simply about branching out or living in an eternal season of spring. Perhaps growth involves severing roots that have hindered growth, at times, and anchoring ourselves more firmly to the Root that causes us to truly live. Sometimes growth requires that we go through seasons of pruning in order that we may bear more fruit in time.
When I think of our life as a family and the seeming barrenness of these past couple of years, I want to keep these perspectives in mind. Most times, it feels like our attempts to branch out have brought us back to bare roots. But then I’m reminded of John’s words about the Messiah.
He must increase, but I must decrease.”
John 3:30
Perhaps all of this digging up and pruning and seemingly becoming less is part of me decreasing so that Jesus may increase in my life. If that is the case, then let it be so. And may God help me to willingly accept that rather than struggling through it as I often do. Ultimately, this season of pruning won’t last forever, so may God help me to graciously accept it with anticipation for the harvest that He is preparing as a result of all the digging up and pruning.
I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit.”
