It’s that time of year. The rose bushes are finally looking like they are not dead brown sticks. Little green shoots are springing up and I can already see in my mind’s eye their different colors and varieties. I don’t know their names, just that this one is a huge yellow one, this one a climbing pick one, this other one has pink furls on the outside and a white heart.

And who comes round the corner with secateurs? That’s big scissors for those of you who don’t really garden. The only reason I know it is because I’ve had to use them when I choose roses for my coffee table, which I take ages, absolutely ages, to fix in a vase. Fix is the word because I want them to bow down to my will until I found out that the best thing is to go with the flow.

That’s another story. So here comes my pruning, shear-wielding husband ready to attack the first rose bush. Why must he cut them to make them grow? They’re growing already! Look at the tiny lovely shoots! Well, if he doesn’t cut them, we’ll still get flowers but we’ll get more if we prune them. And they’ll be healthier for it. Ouch! It’s going to hurt!

So do I stand in front of the rose bush, arms out, feet planted squarely and shout, “No, no, no!” Well, no. I smile and nod my head and go back into the house and leave him to cut off twigs and branches to his heart’s content. Only it is not random; it is executed with care. He asked advice from his brother, who is studying agriculture. He read a magazine on how to prune and where and when.

To someone who doesn’t know anything about gardening, he may seem heartless. I know better. He’s my husband. I know him; I know his heart.

I look at some of the stuff I’ve gone through, some of the truly hard stuff my friends are going through. And I wonder why. A good God, you say? A pruning, shear-wielding one with a malevolent grin, more like it. Can this really be for my good? I would not for the life of me want to go through the anguish of not knowing where my son was after he walked out in anger.  Nor would I wish it on my worst enemy. But did I come out of it a better person? I hope so. I can understand other parents who have wayward children just that little bit more. I’ve been humbled to see I don’t have it all together and that God, yes, He actually does. And most of all, I’ve had to seek this God. Because you see, just as I know my husband’s heart and can therefore let him loose on the rose bushes, so too, when I get a glimpse of God’s heart can I let Him loose on my life. And on the life of those whom I love the most.