Hi Friends,
It's tree trimming time of year again, and I was reminded of this story when Grandpa and I trimmed trees together . . .
Trimming Trees with Grandpa
I stared up at the branches of the oak tree and swung the puny set of clippers in my hand. It was hot. The branches were high. But not high enough. At least not according to my kids.
I walked around the tree trunk twice, evaluating the task at hand. A moment later, three of my daughters rode up on their horses and stopped outside the tree’s canopy. “If it was all just a foot higher,” one said, “we could ride underneath and not hit our heads.”
I sighed. “But the shade is better this way.”
“Mooooom.”
“I know, I know. Not safe.” I groaned. I knew I needed to do some trimming, but it would be so much easier to just let the branches be. Maybe it would be better to wait for the weather to be cooler, or for a better set of clippers, or for life to be easier, or to feel more encouraged,or energetic, or hopeful, or passionate, or …
I drew a deep breath. No. Today was the day. Even though it was hard work, and I was ill equipped, and, well, I really didn’t feel like it.
Still, I raised the clippers and made my first cut on the lowest branch. Snip, snap. A twig skittered down my shirt. Snap, snip. Another twig and three dry leaves stuck in my hair. Snip, snip, crack! A bigger branch came tumbling down. I jumped aside. Then, I squinted up into the canopy. The small hole I’d made revealed a network of dead branches tucked behind the living ones, branches I hadn’t noticed before. They were ugly, unhealthy.
I stood on my tiptoes but couldn’t reach the newly exposed deadness. Now what was I going to do? I couldn’t leave all that bare lifelessness just hanging there.
“What are you doing?”
I turned to see Grandpa striding toward me, a frown marring his brow.
I stared up at the tree again. “Trimming! But this is a bigger job than I thought.”
Grandpa moved beside me and glanced up at the dead branches. “You need a chainsaw for that. And a ladder.”
“I don’t know how to work the chainsaw.”
He laughed. “A chainsaw is above your pay grade.”
I smiled as Grandpa trundled back to his garage and came back with a ladder and saw. Then together, and only together, we began to tackle the hard-to-reach branches. I held the ladder and handed him tools. He trimmed and cut. And we both looked for more dead branches nestled within the canopy.
In time, the deadness was gone, the tree branches were higher, and the tree was lush and lovely, just as it was meant to be. I grinned. Grandpa grinned. Then we sat down beneath the tree and enjoyed some iced tea in the shade.
After a few minutes, Grandpa set down his glass and murmured, “This will be better when winter comes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Winter storms. Wind can blow through the branches because they’re cleaned up. Storm won’t knock this tree down.”
And all because we cleared away the deadness.
There are dead places in my life too. In John 15:2 (NIV), Jesus says of God, “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.” In the original Greek, the word for “he prunes” is the same as the word for “he cleans.” Just as Grandpa helped me to clean up the oak tree, so too God helps me to clean up the dead places in my life so I can be more fruitful, more of what he created me to be. It’s not an easy task. And the chainsaw of life is also above my pay grade.
But God comes alongside me. He brings the ladder and wields the chainsaw. He is the one to cut and prune. Yet, I must stand with him, looking for the dead places, doing my part. Together, God and I can make my life into the beautiful tree it was meant to be.
Because when the dead branches are cleared away, my kids can safely run and play in my shade. I will provide a better resting place from the heat of the sun, and more importantly, God and I can sit in the shade and enjoy a refreshing drink of grace together.
And when the storms come, and I know they’ll come, I won’t be blown off course because now the Holy Spirit can now rustle through my branches.
