The world went quiet as the chainsaw wound down, the last revolutions of its roar echoing off the far ridge before disappearing into silence. For a few long seconds, the former majestic eighty-foot oak fought against the gravity tugging it back to earth. Then, with a moaning crack deep inside its trunk, it trembled and shifted on the thin hinge left by the chainsaw. The heavy trunk kicked high as the bulk of the tree slammed into the earth with a whoosh THUNK that vibrated up my legs from the soles of my shoes.
The ancient oak had probably been here on the ridge since the Civil War roared around it 161 years ago. But it was diseased, fatally so, and poised a danger to our home. It wasn't alone. Another oak, smaller and younger but just as fatally sick, was already prostrate across the yard. Also, several thick branches had stretched ominously toward the roof of the house.
The tree surgeons had swarmed over our trees, wielding their chainsaws like lightsabers as they pruned, cut, and cleared. Now, their work done, they packed away the tools of their trade in their somewhat battered white van and disappeared down the driveway and off the ridge.
Their work was done, but ours was just beginning. There was probably a cord of firewood scattered across the yard, but unfortunately, it was still in its original form. For the next several weekends—armed with chainsaws, handsaws, hatchets, axes, sledgehammers, and splitters—we worked to clean up the mess for the next several weekends. And gain firewood for the winter.
I hated seeing holes in the leafy tree canopy that had once covered our home. But I would have hated even more to see holes in our roof from dead limbs crashing to earth. Deadwood must be trimmed, and dead trees must be brought to earth.
In the same way I work to keep the trees in our yard healthy, God likes to prune me. And like most living things, I suppose I produce more fruit when pruned. Disappointment, grief, family troubles, loss, circumstances that seem unfair, jealousy, and worry over health problems are all rubbish the Lord likes to show me. Fortunately, His Word is so sharp it doesn't hurt much when He prunes.
If you have deadwood in your life, use our Father's help and His razor-sharp Word to prune it out. Then have yourself a nice bonfire.
Kevin Spencer likes to play with words, help others play with them, and is privileged to be a staff writer for Christian Devotions. He lives with his beautiful blessing of a wife, Charlotte, and his amazing collegiate grandson, Caleb.