We discovered a tiny little lemon tree when we first moved into our Huntington Beach, California home. It produced lemons year-round regardless of how I cared for it. They weren’t your average lemons, either. They were the coveted Meyer lemons, more sweet than sour. I couldn’t keep up with all the fruit this tree would regularly pop out. I’d often pile all the lemons into a cardboard box, write “free lemons” in Sharpie on the side, and plop it on the curb for the neighbors to share in our bounty. I was amazed that no matter how much I ignored this tree (which was quite often), it would continue to produce fruit. Eventually, I ran into a problem with this prolific tree. I found it was infested with snails who were getting to the fruit much faster than I could. It was time to take action.
Surrounding the bottom of the tree with salt, I hoped to get rid of the snails without putting my dog at risk by using snail bait. Eventually, the snails left. But then I noticed many branches that looked a bit like petrified wood. I’d never claimed to have a green thumb, but after a quick Google search, I learned I should get rid of all the dead wood I could find. Now, I rarely attack a job using the proper tools, usually just grabbing what I can find and getting to work. I entered the garage, knowing I didn’t have the ideal trimmers. Instead, I grabbed a saw with a handle and went to work on my sad little lemon tree.
The work was so satisfying that I kept checking each branch and removing the dead wood. Once I was finished removing all the useless branches, I stood back to admire my work and thought, “Well, I may have gone a little too far.” My tree looked like a kid who’d tried to cut their own hair. Off-center, haphazard, and close to bald. I figured I’d probably killed the poor thing.
If you have a green thumb (unlike me), you already know where this story is going. Not only did my lemon tree survive, but it came back more fruitful than I’d ever seen before. The tree thrived because all the dead parts had been removed. As a result, all its energy could be directed toward growing new leaves—and, most importantly—producing new blossoms that would become fruit. Without the intense pruning I gave it, the tree wouldn’t have been able to create such an abundance of good fruit the following season.
This is how God works in our lives. Sometimes, we may look like my lemon tree: barren. We can feel as if God has stripped absolutely everything away, leaving us dead inside.
But, when my tree was pruned to the nth degree, it was far from dead. Beyond what my human eyes could see, the tree was repositioning and adapting. It focused on the essential things, such as deeper roots, which would support all the new fruit. When you’ve been pruned so much that you feel dead, you can know that growth is happening under the surface beyond what you can see. God’s drawing you to put down deep roots with Him, to seek after Him for the nourishment you need to grow. And He’s growing you in humility, so when that beautiful fruit comes, there will be no pride in yourself because you’ll recognize that growth as a work only God could do.
We simply surrender and allow God to do His holy work of pruning. He’s the one who brings the increase. Through every season, we’re growing. We must trust God’s careful pruning and rely on His nourishment to make us more fruitful than we could imagine.
“He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and He prunes the branches that do bear fruit
so they will produce even more.”
John 15:2 NLT
Editor’s Note: The above is an excerpt from God Isn’t Hiding: Volume One — The Spaces and Places I’ve Found Him, available at shannonquintana.com or your favorite bookseller.
