Of Pruning Tomatoes and Forgiveness

Are you still pruning and suckering your tomatoes, or doyou just let them run amok?

Now, I realize that city dwellers may not know exactly what I'm talkingabout. Some years ago my daughter was at her friend's house in the citywhere they were growing a few tomato plants in a flower bed. Michelleproceeded to sucker off the middle growth in the Y formed by the tomato'snew branch.

"What are you doing?" her friend yelled, aghast. Michelle tried to explainthe benefits of pruning off this extra growth, to allow more strength to goto the development of tomatoes.

We were tardy tying up and pruning the tomatoes this year, so by the time Igot around to it back in June, some of the stalks had developed a very badstructure: they were so bent that there was no way that I could immediatelytie them up to be straightened.But I knew that if I just got them started going up in a straight line orpattern, that eventually they would overcome their bent portion andstraighten up to be a tall, productive, healthy tomato plant.

Training tomato vines is sometimes painful for me as the pruner. If I leavethem go too long before pinching out the suckers, the sucker goes on toactually develop tomatoes on its branch. Yet I know if I don't lop off thaterrant branch, it will suck (as its name implies) life and strength from therest of the tomato plant, ultimately resulting in a much weaker, lessproductive plant. And so we sucker the tomatoes, knowing it will help themin the long run.

That's how it is with forgiveness. Anger and bitterness sucks the life outof you, drags you down, makes you bent; you are not a reflection of yourtrue potential. When we do the difficult work that is called for inforgiveness-pruning out bitterness and anger, we can gradually-not rightaway, go on to be healthy and straight. All it takes-like running a tomatoup a tomato stake-is a start in the right direction.

Hundreds of people have witnessed to the freeing power of forgiveness.Remember the famed photo of the naked little girl running away from hervillage in Vietnam after napalm was dropped on it? What a powerful image; itseared our consciousness and consciences. In November, 1996 (then living inCanada with her husband and child), she addressed a crowd at the Vietnam WarMemorial. She said, "If I could talk to the pilot who dropped napalm on myvillage, I would say, 'I forgive you.'" What brought her to be able to saythat? It probably was a process, and it probably was simply a decision shemade in trying to get on with her life.

I think of the more ordinary stories of forgiveness closer to home. A35-year-old man had been estranged from his family for several years; thingswere at an impasse. No one knew how to sort out thewho-said-what-who-did-what-when did it start? He and his wife visited acounselor, who recommended he just ask to start over with his family, andask forgiveness. So one day he went to see the parents and asked forforgiveness. They gladly welcomed him back into their lives.

These are the stories that melt my heart and help me realize that someone'swillingness to take the first step and make a move toward forgiveness is whatmakes the difference between forgiveness and impasse; healing and hurt. Ittakes awhile-sometimes years, sometimes a lifetime-to bring healing. Butwhen someone takes the first step, it is like the tomato vine that isfinally started up a straight and strong stake: it won't get straightenedout right away, but over time, it goes in the direction God intended it togrow.

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Contributed by Melodie Davis from her weekly columnANOTHER WAY (http://www.thirdway.com/aw/).For information on using Another Way in a local newspaper, contact:ANOTHER WAY, 1251 Virginia Ave., Harrisonburg, VA 22801-2497; or call1-800-999-3534; fax at 540-434-5556; or email me at:Melodie@mennomedia.org