God is the Gardener

For a person who is usually open about almost everything, I am often quiet about my feelings about Cindy Lynn's health.

Perhaps too quiet; Cindy Lynn asked me while she was in the hospital this last time if I really worry about her. Several visitors had asked her this, and she had reassured them that she did not think I worried about her.

Those few people that I do talk to about this would have answered this question differently. I worry deeply and frequently about my daughter and her health. I don't talk about it much because with this topic, like few others, raw emotions lay just beneath the surface and emerge quickly. (And I am very aware that, unlike heroines in novels, I look pretty awful when I'm crying!)

Most of the time I shove all of this worry and sadness way down deep so that I can get on with the business of life without feeling quite so emotionally volatile. Sometimes, unfortunately, the emotions won't be shoved.

The last few days have been like that—I'm sure due to the combination of jet lag and the emotions of last weekend. I have found myself in tears several times and realized that it is because I am so frustrated and worried about how bad Cindy Lynn's health has been for the last year.

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I pester the Lord frequently about Cindy Lynn. "I trust your plan, and it's ok for her to be sick," I tell Him. "Just not this sick." "Just not for this long." "Please," I ask Him, "Isn't there anything we can do to to help her be more healthy than this?"

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Friday night after I put my girlies to bed I stayed up late sewing. I slept poorly (darn that new exercise video!) and woke up late, then went downstairs to eat breakfast. As I sat at the table I couldn't help but notice my Bible sitting down at the other end where I'd read it the day before.

It was nice not to feel any guilt about having been a scripture reading slacker last week.

The thought came to my mind that even though I don't usually read my scriptures on Saturday, my day would probably be blessed if I did read.

I didn't pay too much attention to that thought, and kept eating. But it kept coming back to my mind — if I read my scriptures my day would probably be better.

Finally I scooted down to the end of the table and opened the Bible.

I've been reading for several months now in the New Testament, NIV version. (Hooray for understanding the words!) I'm reading along in the institute manual, and for the last month or so I've been reading the chapters in the gospels covering the last week of Jesus' life. Yesterday I read the first half of John 15, paying particular attention to the verses that went along with the commentary in the institute manual.

Because I hadn't marked the place that I last stopped reading, I ended up starting chapter 15 again. This time because I wasn't headed towards the 4th verse I was thinking a little more about the first few verses.

1: I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener.

Got it. Jesus is the vine, and God is the gardener.

2: He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit,

Probably better make sure I'm bearing fruit. Don't want to be cut off by God the gardener.

...while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.

And the Gardener is going to prune the fruitful branches so that they will bear even more fruit...Dang, I'll bet being pruned is going to really hurt...

As I sat there and (almost idly) thought about the implications of being pruned by God the Gardener, the story that Hugh B. Brown told of pruning his current bush popped into my mind. I would encourage everyone to read it or re-read it here — it is a powerful story.

I realized in that moment that Heavenly Father had been paying attention to my pleadings and that this was the reminder that I have needed this week. He is the Gardener. He knows what is best for Cindy Lynn — and it is not always the comfort and ease that I crave for her.

When Cindy Lynn was a baby she had to have a zillion blood tests, and they were always awful. I would have given anything to be able to be able to hand my own arm and blood over to the phlebotomists rather than hold down my precious screaming baby so that they could get hers.

In the same way every time she is sick (again, over and over, almost without ceasing lately) I wish that I could give her some of my immune system, some of the strength of my body, anything at all that would help her be better.

I needed that reminder that I am not the Gardener, and that it is He, and not I, who sees her true potential and knows how best to help her achieve it...