Mom had a green thumb, and so does my sister. Me? Not so much. If a cactus survives in my house for a week, I get excited. It delights me to see that my grandson Sam might have inherited that green thumb gene! He loves roses and often asks about those “knockout woses,” as he calls them. His innocent questions remind me of my own conversations with Mom about those roses.
As a child, I watched Mom plant flowers and work her garden in a way that seemed effortless. She knew what to do and, like a talented gardener, when to do it. I have a vivid childhood memory of our front flower bed filled with beautiful, fragrant rose bushes. But in the early winter, Mom would trim those bushes until they were nothing but sticks.
“Mom, what are you doing?” I asked her once. “Now they’re just ugly and bare!” As we sat on the porch swing together, she explained to me that those rose bushes were only
beautiful because of the cutting. The pruning. And for four or five months, our front flower bed was nothing but pathetic sticks
in the ground. But when spring came, hundreds of tiny buds grew on the sticks, and then, one by one, those buds opened into vibrant colors. The sticks transformed into abundant, breathtaking roses that delighted our neighbors.
Years later, during one of her chemo treatments, Mom and I talked about dreams. I always shared with her every detail of my deepest dreams, and she held them close to her heart. She told me God wants us to dream big. He puts dreams in our hearts for His purposes, but He doesn’t want us to exclude Him while we are chasing them.
The dreams God planted in my heart have required pruning, a cutting away of all that was unnecessary. Those are the broken places. And sometimes He cuts away people who don’t fit into the dream or destiny. It is painful at the time, but He is protecting the dream from anything that would hinder its growth. He wants our dreams to bring forth good fruit.
These last few years, it has felt like my dreams have been laid down, and at times, like they were dying. I was in the winter season, feeling like those pathetic sticks of rosebushes. It was cold, lonely, and every part of me felt bare, vulnerable, and stuck. Later, what I realized is that the greatest breakthrough toward realizing my dream came after a time of pruning and then surrender. I had to ask questions like, “Was this my dream, or His?” It’s amazing how authentic answers come to light during the pruning. Things are cleaned and cleansed, and the new blooms forth. Sometimes those dreams return stronger and 
clearer than before. Like Mom’s roses that bloomed more fragrant and brighter after the hard pruning.
But I had to lay it all down—surrender and humble myself—for those dreams to bloom again. Years ago, Dr. James Dobson spoke about a time when his son was a toddler and had a severe ear infection. The doctor had to probe inside that painful ear, and as the boy lay on the examining table, the doctor asked Dobson to hold him still. As the process began, the little boy looked into his father’s eyes with tearful confusion. His frightened expression seemed to ask, Why are you hurting me, Daddy? There was no way to explain to the young child that this was all being done for his own good. Dobson’s son only knew that his father was allowing him to go through deep pain.
I am thankful for a Father who prunes, because I also know He is the Father who protects and provides. There are many things I won’t understand this side of heaven, but I know God loves me, and He protects my dreams.
Maybe you feel like an ugly winter stick—bare, vulnerable, and wondering when the time of pruning will end. I want to encourage you to hold on to the dream, and the One who put it in your heart. Don’t give up, but embrace the time of pruning. Your Savior has a green thumb, so rest in the assurance that spring is coming, and you are in the hands of the Master Gardener