Pruned

Well, though I said pruned, it would be more accurate to say mauled. Or mangled. Or chewed.

The JCB which ripped up the honeysuckle at the end of the drive on Friday sneaked back today and made a meal out of the couple of elderflower trees and the bramble bushes on the other side of the road.

Surely it would have been easier, and the result would have been less like a bomb site, if the worker had got out of the cab and used a chainsaw. Clean and neat trimming then. Instead we are left with branches that have been chewed and ripped, short amputated limbs of these once pretty trees.

Oh, I know they will grow back, but like a bad haircut, it will take time. We may not have many brambles next year. The fragrance of the voluptuous honeysuckle will be reduced as so many fewer flowers will bloom.

Jesus called his father the gardener, who pruned those branches which did not bear fruit. The Father, though, is gentle and kind. He doesn't rip away parts of our lives. He carefully sizes us up, judges which bits are a waste of time, and snips them off.

I am happy for him to prune my life. I certainly don't want the butcher in the JCB anywhere near me!