One of the hallmarks of a farmyard is the grape arbor. Those farms that have been in existence for decades usually have a two-story farmhouse, a few flower beds, a rhubarb patch and a grape arbor. Those grape arbors speak of the foresight of the farmwife who thought fresh-picked grapes made into sweet grape jelly would be a welcome addition to her wintertime table and give her a feeling of satisfaction to see the jars of preserves in her jelly cupboard.

We have a grape arbor in our backyard and I love it. I did not plant it, but I love its looks when it’s leafed out, I love eating the grapes from it and I like to make those grapes into jelly. But as I’ve traveled around, I’ve seen other grape arbors, and they don’t look anything like mine, especially this time of year. Where others are clean and neat and trimmed up with one main vine coming from the ground, mine is a jumbled-up mess of vines.

Where the wires and fence posts that hold up the grapevine stand up tall and straight, mine are leaning under the weight of a thick bunch of vines. And when I look at those professionally groomed vines in the summertime, I see well-contained leaves, not like mine, that are reaching up into the cedar trees next to the arbor pressing beyond the boundaries to choke out the tree.

When a grapevine is pruned each year, its fruitfulness increases; when a grapevine is let go and never trimmed up, it grows lots of vines and leaves but produces less fruit. When a grapevine is kept in order, the arbor’s framework is less stressed and can manage the vine. But an unkept grapevine consumes the arbor and reaches out to devour anything in its path.

When I look out at my unkept grapevine from a distance, I see a beautiful piece of landscape. But when I get close, I see posts that need to be straightened, and vines that need pruning, and a Cedar tree that is choking from its consuming neighbor.

Isn’t that so much like our lives? When we don’t discipline our kids, they run wild and press every boundary around them. They want to meander down whatever road looks appealing and do not want any advice on the potential train wrecks in front of them. And honestly, as adults, we can act the same way. We think we know best and refuse the thought of being pruned.

If left alone, we can screw up the best of situations looking beautiful on the outside while covering up the void deep down inside. That fruitless void was created when we decided we knew best and scoffed at the notion of humility and surrender to the One who knows best.

Pruning is never fun, but if we want to continue to grow, develop and produce, we have to trust that the pain of the process will bring about fruitful changes that benefit us and nourish those around us.