The Miracle of Pruning

He spoke and things became. Ever wonder about that? How the creator designed a mountain or a tree. What He said to elicit a hummingbird, a giraffe or a seahorse. I have wondered many times how He “crafted” the clouds. I highly doubt that scissors were involved. However, I am sure He smiles proudly when we embark on our own quest to be a creator. Especially when, we enthusiastically run with our scissors.

I never ran with my scissors. In fact, I was never very “crafty.” I did some drawing, plenty of coloring and tried my hand at wood carving. Sports were more my passion growing up. But as I got older, and appreciated the curb appeal of my home more, I began going to great lengths to harness my landscaping into an actual design that looked intentional. And, of course, I invested in all the tools that go with it. I came to enjoy chopping and pruning my plants regularly to preserve my meticulous design. Seemingly out of the blue, my energy level began dwindling dramatically and I could no longer tend to my landscaping. One year, the week before Thanksgiving, I was taken to the emergency room because I began to experience pain in my chest. I was admitted to the hospital for observation as is anyone who presents with chest pain. However, with each blood test showing no evidence of a heart attack, my blood count went lower and lower until my doctor realized I needed a blood transfusion.

A young woman about my age was the nurse on duty in my wing. I will call her Sue. My family and friends noted how nice she was and quietly discussed whether she had an accent when she spoke. She came in and out often to monitor the transfusion and when it was complete, about 1:00 am, I had wings that could fly me anywhere I wanted to go “but certainly, not to sleep,” I declared. She laughed. And she kindly stayed and chatted with me a few minutes. I asked where she was from. She said “I’m Jamaicanadian.” I scrunched up my face. “Jamaican born but I came to the US by way of Canada where I went to college.”

“Ok. That sounds adventurous,” I replied.

Sue was kind and interesting and I felt such a warmth in her care. She asked me some key questions that helped her pinpoint my problem and wrote a note in my chart to the doctor. But the doctor quickly dismissed it. Nurses are not supposed to make diagnoses. When my blood level was restored to a normal level, I was given the “all clear” and sent home. Two weeks later, the symptoms returned, and I went back to the hospital. I saw Sue again, but she was not assigned to my room. This time, my doctor ordered a cardiac workup and again sent me home when that was ruled out. Sue advised me to follow up on my own with what she had told me. I did that after leaving the hospital and found that she was 100% correct. I never went back to that doctor. But I did buy a thank you note for Sue and delivered it to the hospital right away. She hugged me and expressed her delight at the knowledge that I had found the cause of my issue.

“Your phone number better be in here” she said with an appreciative grin when I presented her with the card. It was.

She called and invited me to lunch. We found common ground quickly and became fast friends. Then, something interesting happened. Her contract with the hospital was ending and, coincidentally, my annual deadline for work was a few days later. After the deadline, we were customarily given 2 weeks off to recharge. I told Sue that I planned to turn those 2 weeks into a month by using 2 weeks of leave time. So, she opted to take a month off as well to recharge before accepting another job.

Nearly every morning, we met for a vigorous workout and breakfast afterward. Languishing by the community pool, we shared our life stories and hopes for our futures. She wanted children more than anything. In the evening, we walked, studied the bible, biked, cooked, played tennis, and got to know each other very well. Needless to say, we became “besties” in that month to the chagrin of her boyfriend who pouted because he was completely neglected.

It was obvious to me that her island home was never far from her mind. She had a tremendous affinity for flowers. She wore them in her hair, displayed them on the tables in her home and loved to present a bouquet to her friends and patients. Her clothes were often adorned with floral designs and patterns as well. Before Spring had sprung, she chattered on and on about which flowers she was going to plant, how they would be arranged and the effect they would have on her disposition. I nodded and smiled but did not quite share the same level of enthusiasm. I only knew the names of the few that never failed to bring a lovely smile to my mother’s face.

Naively, I volunteered to help Sue with her planting. I had no concept of the massive project she was launching, and nothing could have prepared me. A planter the entire length of her house had to be dug up to accommodate all the flowers she would plant. I believe she tried to plant as many of the varieties from home as she could to remind her of her family and friends she left there.

I had no problem obliging her. I like digging in the dirt and designing the overall order of the landscaping. I also helped her trim her bougainvillea and she helped me plant gladiolus and dinner plate dahlias for my mother. Once all the bulbs were in the ground, she had such a satisfied look. I suspiciously anticipated that the result would be spectacular. And it was.

Before the tiny shoots began to push up through the dirt, she took me out to the patio one day.

“Pruning shears!” she announced, as if this was a revelation. Had I used them before was her question.

“Yes, of course,” I said. But not with the loving kindness she exhibited designed to improve the health and strength of this plant in front of her. When I used them, it was always with a vengeance to keep something from escaping its boundaries and intruding on my “design.” In my world, they were for taming a wild bush and lopping a branch that dared to shoot off in its own direction. This was clearly not the same. Sue was carefully and gently pruning this plant like a mother bird cleaning her baby bird’s feathers.

“This is a Phalaenopsis orchid,” she said.

“Ok.” I tried not to sound uninterested. Don’t get me wrong. I did appreciate flowers, after all, I had just spent a whole week assisting her with her garden and improving my mother’s as well. They have an astounding beauty, no doubt, but I was used to admiring them from afar. Annuals worked for me in a particular planter, but I planted them and then left them to do what they do. I did not hover or worry very often if they had enough sun or water.

“I like this one here,” I said pointing. “What kind is it?”

“That’s a cattleya.”

“It’s pretty.”

“I can give you a piece of that one if you like” she stated.

“A piece?” What would I do with a piece? I wondered. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I can always come and admire yours.”

“Yes, but it could brighten a room in your house.”

I supposed so, but I was not even aware that they needed brightening until I met her.

I must admit, orchids seemed different to me. They had a tender or delicate characteristic and seemed to require gentle care and attention. I was not used to that. It requires patience and observation that I had never given to plants. She understood the balance of nutrients, water, sunlight, and time that was required to bring forth their hidden beauty. It really is amazing how concealed somewhere inside is an unimaginable present that does not even exist when you look at its small green shoots and leaves. And then, because it has received the right recipe of nutrients, love and care, it generates and brings forth this delicate wispy flower with intense colors that has such a bright effect on its surroundings, yet a very limited lifespan. It appears out of a tiny bud and grows and opens in a majestic miracle earnestly soaking up the rays of the sun and dancing in the rain. Each one gives us a brief glimpse of its beauty and then one day abruptly begins to fade. It wilts and dies and is no more. And the waiting commences again. It vaguely resembles a peek-a-boo game with a small child.

Sue began to teach me the names of the various orchid species that inhabited her patio screen enclosure like they were the names of her children. I learned them well as they were starting to live in my world too. She educated me about the differing needs for each variety and taught me about the mediums they were “planted” in. As my interest grew, we found local orchid shows to attend with another friend to admire and purchase a new variety or color. Plus, my expertise with Saint Augustine grass helped her, and she schooled me on the names of many, many other varieties of flowers.

We put our shears to good use nearly every day repotting those that were overcrowded in their containers, redistributing portions of them, and dividing them up between the three of us. I discovered the necessity of keeping my pruning shears sharp and using them to help the plant, in addition to putting cinnamon on the wounds to keep diseases out. I soon had my own small collection of orchids. I was keeping them happy and they were blooming for me. Along with the plants, our friendship bloomed as well.

Well after our month was up, in fact it was years later, my job wanted to send me to Jamaica to do some inspections. However, concern for my safety caused them to inquire whether Sue would go along to be my chauffer and tour guide. She had no problem agreeing. And when we arrived there, she was undoubtedly at home. So much so, that I almost did not recognize her. She drove just as aggressive and unorthodox as everyone else and her thick Jamaican accent burst forth like a firework. Until the police pulled her over for speeding. Then, she brought out her best American accent and said, “I live in Florida.” I was hysterical when they let her go with only a warning. I met her parents and siblings and relished the flowers that were blooming everywhere. Her mother had her own amazing collection of orchids also.

Over time, I fell in love with the anticipation I felt when I saw a new shoot appear on one of my babies. Because of that, I began to spend more time with those pruning shears in my hand. Both my front and back yard now had many more types of flowers to behold. I was using every means available to coax those green shoots to bless me with a loving present of wispy brilliantly colored flowers to brighten my yard, the rooms of my house and my life. I appreciated the part I played in their journey, as I appreciated the part Sue played in mine and I in hers.

At some point in our friendship, I discovered that Sue’s favorite flower was actually not an orchid, but a hydrangea. Yet, curiously, she had never planted one in her yard. I took it upon myself to bring her one and we quickly picked out a spot for it. It grew into an amazing bush where her cat loved to hide, and it flowered every season.

And then, she got sick. The Big C. I know it is shocking and abrupt, but that is how it comes on. It grows silently until it hampers a bodily function that happens to be vital. And nurses do not like to go see doctors. They also never seem to divulge why. It could be because they have seen so many people become sick and not recover. Or maybe, simply because they like to take care of others and do not want to be taken care of. Whatever the reason, she waited until it was too late to act. It had taken over her gallbladder and was consuming her liver.

I spent 30 nights in the hospital with her getting Chemotherapy. It was not fun, but she was fortunate in that her hair did not fall out and she did not suffer the nausea and vomiting that typically accompanies it. We spent time praying and we spent time laughing and we spent time reflecting. She was able to go home under her own strength.

I spent a lot of time with her gazing at the flowers and I marveled at what an amazing tool those pruning shears are. At first glance, I thought they gave me the power to control the boundaries in which my plants grew, but there is an immense lesson in its small stature and strength. If they are kept sharp so that the cut is quick and clean, the resulting laceration only hurts for a little while and then encourages growth and health and strength. What appears to be harmful in the beginning, ends up bringing rewards.

I also recognized how each of us human beings can benefit from being pruned, as well. We all have parts of our character that can stand to be cut back and redirected into something more positive. We often try to shoot off in our own direction paying no mind to encroaching on others’ territory or life. We need to be encouraged to reach deep inside and bring forth the beauty that is hidden or dormant that will release a majestic miracle of a kind word, act of service or selfless gesture. Perhaps, embracing the selfless act of meeting someone else’s needs before our own will cause something beautiful to spring forth from us.

My friend passed away, but I see her often in the unique beauty and color palette of my orchids. I remember the dresses she wore adorned with bright flowers and how a flower tucked over her ear made her look exotic. But mostly, I recall how she smiled when spring came, and her hydrangeas were in bloom.

Now, I give orchids and pruning shears as gifts and offer advice to those who are new to the power of those shears. I regularly stop into the big box stores to check their sale rack for orchids they are practically giving away and use my shears to help nurse them back to health. Sue’s mom and I have developed a lasting friendship and we share pictures of our babies with each other whenever they are blooming. Over the years, I have graduated from just Cattleyas to include Dendrobium, Oncidium and Phalaenopsis. I even bought a topiary and learned to prune it to keep its shape.

I hope you recognize the poignant parallel, in my friend’s story. She came into my life and our friendship watered her and gave her the nutrients she needed to bloom for a while. Then one day, she was sick. She began to fade, wilt and died. But she has not become no more in my eyes. I carry her spirit with me always.

Sometimes, I am sad because I miss her horribly, but mostly I recall all she shared with me while wielding her pruning shears. Every time I use mine, I feel her presence, hear her voice, and look forward to a new bloom that will brighten my world like she did if even for a brief moment which truly creates happiness for me. I believe the gifts she gave me were priceless and everlasting.

“Oh look, Sue, my cattleya has a new bud.”