Pruning

Photo from Unsplash

Pruning //
verb: to trim (a tree, shrub, or plant) by cutting away dead or overgrown branches or stems, especially to encourage growth.

The start of a shiny new year is a natural opportunity for reflection. And recently, I've been thinking about a dead-looking plant that sits in our garden. 

Last summer, our rose plant produced just 5 roses. After a quick google search, I realised that the simple problem was that we'd never pruned it. In fact, we'd never really done anything to this lovely yellow rose plant and its many, many branches. In the heat of summer it looked beautiful, luscious and green - but it wasn't doing very well at producing its yellow flowers.

On the surface, it was great to look at. But ultimately, our plant didn't look the way it was created to be. 

So this shiny new year, I'm reflecting on pruning. Where I, too, need to encourage growth. And where I might need to cut away the dead and overgrown branches of life.

It's a scary concept, pruning. At the end of last summer I haphazardly attacked some of our rose branches. I used the wrong scissors; my £1 gardening gloves did not prevent me from the many thorns; my neighbours were slightly confused at my enthusiasm. The process occurred with much trepidation - uncertain if I was cutting away the right branches. By the time I'd finished, I'd made our once-full-bodied plant a shadow of itself. 

Almost four years ago, I quite drastically 'pruned' myself. I quit a job that I loved, left the city of my dreams, and volunteered overseas for three months without much thought about what would come after. It was quite a bit like my pruning of the rose plant - a haphazard attack of my life's branches. It, too, was with much trepidation and I had no idea if I was doing the right thing.

Then, after a little while, I landed here, in a small town, and new branches grew. Now I'm learning even more than I thought possible; surrounded by brilliant people; an incredible community. 

But I've been wondering what it looks like to continue to prune. Perhaps not quite as drastically as before; but actively deciding to keep pursuing growth. To take stock of the branches and to cut back where needed.

Because it's so easy in our regular routine to become like our wild rose plant - with branches of life all over the place that are kind-of okay-great, but not always flourishing.

We are the generation who overcommit. We are too busy. We are too stressed. We are trying to do too much.At work; in our friendships; our relationships; our churches; our homes. We're trying to be five different rose plants, instead of just the one. And I'm learning that I need to stop trying to overachieve or overcommit. But rather to prune.

I'm currently thinking of our dead-looking rose plant. It has to endure the winter before it flowers again. At this moment, I have no idea if the pruning has helped, or hindered, its growth.

But like all things, it requires patience. When we cut off branches (in gardening and in life) we have to be patient. Growth doesn't happen overnight. For me, it took a few uncomfortable and uncertain years. 

But when pruning works, it results in more flowers than before. It results in new life. It's worth the risk. It's worth the challenge.

I don't want to be stuck in the 'green plant that never flowers' phase of life. So in 2019, I'm pausing to cut back; to prune; to create space. Ensuring that I will continue to grow.