a poem about pruning

I prayed the hard prayer,

and the Lord answered

by pruning me bare.

As dead branches fell

and I said goodbye,

I couldn’t help but cry.

but as the Vinedresser

held His garden shears,

He collected my every tear.

He filled His watering can,

for He had a plan.

He poured into the areas that remained,

facilitating growth from my pain.

I realized I was pruned

for Him to make room 

for me to bloom.