A common half-joke about Chinese cuisine is that the Chinese don’t waste anything. That’s why your most popular dim-sum items include chicken feet (which I’m fairly certain have no place in the USDA food pyramid) and tripe. I grew up eating liver, heart, and pig feet, though I could never get myself to stomach bites of brain or cubes of pork blood. Whenever the husband goes deep-sea tuna fishing, my mom will come over to watch him filet his catch, and will always insist that he refrain from throwing out the portions of fish with the bitter blood line. She remains convinced that it is perfectly edible, and scolds him for wasting ‘good stuff.’
This was, at first, the greedy mindset I brought into growing my herbs. My basil plant started off growing beautiful, large, fresh leaves. But as time passed, it began to produce flower buds on most stems, and the leaves, though many, were looking smaller and less substantial. I had read that once your basil starts to flower, you need to prune the plant or the leaves will become bitter. The plant will also wind up spending energy on the flowering process rather than on growing large, sweet leaves. I was reluctant and doubtful at first, so I only pinched the top flowers off. I wanted to somehow preserve as much as I could. It quickly became obvious, however, that there were not only too many flowers, but too many stems and underdeveloped leaves competing for limited space and resources.
Reluctantly, I pinched off the first stem and mourned the loss of the accompanying leaves, some mature but others less so. I could hear my mom’s voice in my head. “That’s good stuff! Don’t waste it!” My reluctance soon dissipated, however, as I saw the healthier, younger leaves underneath with the real potential, if only they would be allowed. Pruning became addictive, fast. The loss mattered less than the gain that I could foresee. More than that, the gain necessitated the loss. I wanted my plant to grow, and grow well. A reluctance or failure to prune on my end would signal foolishness, neglect, or ignorance at best.
Father in Heaven, You are wise, loving, and so attentive in Your pruning of my life. Where I often look for quantity, You look for quality. Where I look for breadth, You look for depth. Now I understand a bit better that You want me to grow, and grow well. Now I understand a bit better how.