Lessons From an Overgrown Arbor
It’s mid-November, and with today’s warmer weather, I decided it was finally time to tackle the garden cleanup. While a few plants are still hanging on, most have shriveled and browned—including the morning-glory vines wrapped all through my beloved arbor. What a job! But as I started cutting away the tangled mess, I realized how therapeutic it actually felt.
It struck me how similar life can be. Some things begin with such excitement—new growth, fresh possibility, the thrill of watching something climb and bloom. But little by little, those same “vines” can start to twist and tighten. Before we know it, they’re weighing us down, blocking out the light, and smothering what was once beautiful.
Then comes the cold season—the challenges—and suddenly what once felt full of life starts to wither. Even after it dies off, the dried-up remains stay tightly wound around us. That’s when the real work begins: untangling, cutting away, clearing out what no longer belongs.
This afternoon, as each vine fell from the arbor, I could almost feel the freedom returning—light coming back through, air moving again. And honestly, that mirrors what God has done in my life these past couple of years. He’s been cutting away things that were choking out who He created me to be. I didn’t even realize how heavy it all was until it was gone. But now? I feel free. I can breathe again. My lights are twinkling.
It’s amazing what the garden can teach us if we slow down long enough to notice. It has healed parts of me I didn’t even know needed tending. And in that quiet work, I’ve met God again and again—right there among the dirt, the pruning, and the new beginnings. 🌿
“Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.” (John 15:2)
