The Art of Growing

In my childhood I was a real life version of the awkward girl in teen movies complete with glasses (my eyes were not the same prescription, so one eye was more magnified than the other regardless of how much I squinted), clothes from my great aunt who wore flamingo pink lipstick and loved garage sales, and...wait for it... head gear for my braces. I collected rocks in the alley behind our house, which I think were just chunks of asphalt and dull pieces of broken glass. I freed my brothers pet turtle so I could live out “saving the planet” like the back of my Hardrock CafĂ© t-shirt commanded. My go-to food was grits with American cheese and I was afraid of ghosts.

Looking at my life through a philosophical lens, one might say I was a flower waiting to bloom. I think I was just growing into me. I’m still awkward but I have found that confidence can do a lot to mask nerdy blemishes.

Although my childhood was spent blossoming and discovering who I was, only one word comes to mind for my 20s: pruning. Pruning, like the shriveled up dried plum that I would pack for lunches (not making that up).

John 15:2 (The Message)
He cuts off every branch of me that doesn’t bear grapes. And every branch that is grape-bearing he prunes back so it will bear even more.

So how is it that I actually allow for pruning to take place? How does a person let their guard down enough to ‘let go, and let God’?

It takes a different discipline to bloom and grow than to step back and prune. I’m not even sure what should be pruned right now but I can’t deny the need for it. At the end of the day, I know I’m not the person I’m going to become, yet.

Happy trimming.

Photo courtesy of Wes Legg


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