pruning
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Sometimes growth looks like grief. Like a tree in winter—barren, stripped, still. But oh, what the gardener knows that the tree does not. God is not afraid to prune us. He is not afraid to cut away the dead things, the false selves we built to survive, or the brittle branches we clung to in…
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I have always thought that pruning the soul is like cutting away dead branches in the heart’s garden—those twisted limbs, heavy with lies and betrayal, the ones that choke the light, the truth. I once believed in people the way the morning believes in the sun. But when they let me down, when they tore…