Removing branches of fruitless relationships from life, no matter how painful and challenging

I haven't felt like I've had anything worthwhile to say lately. It's just one of the fruits that shriveled up over this summer. The seasons are changing in so many ways, and I simply must share. Trust me, this all weaves together.

About a month ago, I went back to where I grew up for a wedding. My date and I planned to camp out in the backyard of the now vacant home I once lived in. Since it's been empty for more than a year, there were plants blocking the stairs to the deck and we didn't feel like risking poison ivy in the dark.

Instead, we sat and enjoyed the clear view of the stars and start of the Perseid meteor shower for a while, then got a hotel in town. It turned out to be a good thing because a pretty strong storm rolled through that night.

I didn't realize how lucky we were until yesterday, when I stopped by and saw branches down all over the place. The biggest one would have landed on my car had we stayed.

I blew it off as "nothing I can do now" and carried on with the evening's plans.

Those plans happened to be the most tame bachelorette party ever, and it couldn't have come at a better time.

The week before was incredibly difficult. I was coming off a profoundly painful end to a cherished relationship, but I was bound and determined to not be a Debbie downer at this party.

The bride and I have known each other about 17 years now. We grew up about a mile apart, which was the one end of our tiny town to the other and went to college together, also pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Camping on her family's ranch was a no-brainer for the party.

Several times throughout the night, I'd glance up at the sky. It was a crystal clear night, so we could see the Milky Way, some meteors bringing up the rear of the Perseid shower, and thousands of stars. It was astoundingly beautiful. When I was a kid and had something on my mind, I'd sneak out of the house in the middle of the night. I'd sit on the front porch, stare at Orion and send my stress to the stars. I felt like this party was the same thing. Not only was I sending all the stress and hurt to the sky, it was flying away with meteors as I made wishes for this new chapter of life. It was so therapeutic and relaxing, I was able to double my sleep for the week in just one night.

This morning, I wanted to stall in town to visit the pizza shop, so I decided I'd earn some brownie points with the parents and try to clear up some of the branches. I definitely did not think this job through, but God sent me there for another reason.

The broken, dead branch was about 10-12 feet long, and about a foot in diameter at the base. Needless to say, it weighed a lot. It was caught on a lower-hanging branch and would not budge. The next 20 minutes was full of pushing, pulling, jumping, falling down, general frustration, and momentarily giving up several times. I thought to myself, "I have nothing but my body and pure, stubborn determination. I am going to get this thing cleared out of the front yard if it's the last thing I do."

Epiphany moment: that's the attitude I needed to have with the relationship.

While part of me stubbornly wanted to fix things, I was still aware that it was fruitless, broken and dead. , Unfortunately, you can't fix dead or put splinters back together.

Moving the massive branch required a lot of work and pain, but eventually, I got it loose and realized how big it really was. I almost quit again just looking at it. But then, there was this quiet little voice that said, "One piece at a time. One step at a time."  It wasn't remotely easy to do. The sharp splinters slashed my legs open. My sweat mixed with the scratches and stung, but I kept going. As I broke off smaller branches, the burden of the trunk became light enough that I could drag it.

When I got to the gate, I had to break off even more, narrowing the trunk down so it could fit through. In that moment, I found myself thinking about how nice it would be to have tools instead of just my bare hands. That voice popped up again, saying, "You have the tools to remove the dead relationship." Boom. I remembered Mary saying that when things get tough, dig in with your "kitty cat claws and don't let go." That's what I did. It was exhausting and painful, but I dragged the trunk up the slight hill and got it into the pile.

Mission accomplished.

I went back to the front yard to attack the bottom branch and realized it is still in tact. It bent from the weight of the dead piece, but did not break.

Voice: "You are that branch."

A few quotes came to mind right about then.
   1. A line from a P!nk song: "You're not broken just bent/And we can learn to love again." (Cheesy, I know.)
   2. John 15:2: "He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more."
   3. A message Autumn sent me about the situation: "I know you can live up to your calling and make Jesus proud of your strength, resilience, grace and life of honor and purpose. Stop living below your calling! You've got stuff to do that doesn't involve this silliness. Rise up, stand up and live for the one who gave everything for you."

The cuts will heal. The stinging will stop. Strength will replace the droopiness of exhaustion.

The living branch will still be there. With the dead weight pruned away, it will grow up toward the sun again. It will be fruitful.

Cementing this point, "Stronger" by Mandisa came on the radio as I started driving back home.

I'm getting back on track. This is going to make me stronger.