Stuart and I went to a bonsai class at the National Arboretum in DC for National Bonsai Day a couple weeks ago. We weren't planning on this, but it was advertised on our visit to the Arboretum, and so we sort of walked into it. I was impressed with how much the lessons from the bonsai cultivator who gave the lesson on bonsai mirrored things that are true of our lives with God as the master gardener who cultivates his vineyard (Isa. 5:1ff, 27:2ff; Eze. 19:10ff.; Hosea 10:1ff.), of which Jesus is the best example (John 15:1ff.). I think we've lost much of the significance of the careful cultivation of growth, fruit, and natural beauty because we simply don't do it anymore. I have a garden, and I still didn't know much of what he said that I thought was significant for insights for our lives. So here they are.
First, I loved what the speaker said about how he picks plants with which to make a bonsai, a specially cultivated and shaped miniature tree: he looks for the ugliest ones. He didn't explain why, precisely, at least not that I remember, but it was an encouragement to me as I thought of God molding our lives. If our speaker can intentionally pick the ugly plants, surely God can use us with the brokenness we bring and can shape us over time into creatures of beauty and fruitfulness.
http://www.asktonythegardener.com/Article/tabid/55/smid/370/ArticleID/75/reftab/36/t/Bonsai-Plant-Art/Default.aspx
Time is another bonsai requirement. Bonsai, the teacher explained, is a long-term practice, a development of beauty of form and structure that requires patience since every change can require months to "set" and long-term shaping requires years. Families pass a tree down through generations since it can take that long to form it. It is a never-ending process, and you can never simply leave the tree alone as a finished work of art. Instead, as a living piece of art, it is constantly changing and growing and so requires ongoing molding and shaping. I remember learning in Old Testament class in college that one of the benefits of the Old Testament is seeing the work of God over years and centuries with his chosen people. Their recurrent failures, few luminous successes, and ongoing gradual transformation through the pages of the books of Law, Prophets, and Writings encourage me that God will be faithful to continue working in my own life and the lives of those around me.
Learning what leads to and inhibits growth was also interesting. For instance, in the process of shaping the tree to a certain shape, you often cut off much of its foliage growth. However, it is important to maintain at least the growth at the end of the branch since the branch will die if one cuts off all of its growth. It makes me wonder what parts of my life I expect to maintain if I do not allow room and cultivation for them to grow and be fruitful - simple things like playing piano, or certain oft-neglected relationships, sometimes even more important things like my spiritual life, etc. In a busy lifestyle, it is easy to forget the importance of maintaining growth and exposure to light and food for the important but sometimes not-so-urgent parts of my life.
Another growth principle involves encouraging ramification (branch formation) and fuller foliage pads through pruning. If new growth is pinched off (e.g. removing the new bright green growth in the spring), it will allow the tree to funnel more energy back into its branches and remaining leaves. For deciduous trees, sometimes defoliation is practiced (removing all the leaves) since reformed leaves are smaller and more numerous after defoliation. For both evergreens and deciduous trees, new branches are formed, and the remaining foliage pads that have been pinched off grow in more fully.
http://www.mybonsaibuddy.com/749px-Trident_Maple_bonsai_52,_October_10,_2008.jpg
Pruning is always something that makes me a bit nervous in gardening. It requires cutting off something that looks like growth (e.g. a leggy stem of my petunias with flowers on the end) and trusting that more and fuller growth (e.g. more flowers closer to the plant and a fuller, more attractive result) will result from the loss. In the same way in my own life, pruning takes courage. It involves passing through pain, allowing God to take away something I thought was growth and flowers and trusting that he will cause different and more beautiful growth in its place. It can mean redirecting energy into remaining branches and leaves when distractions are fewer. It means trusting the as-yet-unseen.
A final aspect of growth involves growth that can be missed - that of the roots. The overall picture and part of the beauty of a bonsai tree involves the roots. They are considered in deciding how to shape the tree, and they grow when the tree seems most dead: in the winter. It is encouraging to me to think that the foundational strength of the tree, the ability to stand tall against storms and winds, the deep reaching for water, the stability and, well, rootedness of the tree actually grow when the tree looks dead. As I look at my own life and the lives of those around me, where could growth be occurring under the surface where things look lifeless? When we pass through periods of barrenness and cold and lack of fruit, can we trust God to be causing our roots to grow, actually to make us more stable in the very times when we feel least productive and secure?
http://mfs.piccsy.com/t/pall-bonsai-winter-156626-475-545.jpg
Besides organic growth, the bonsai maker/cultivator actually shapes the branches and directs where they will grow. He does this by first wiring the branches, using flexible coated wire to wrap in spiral fashion the branches nearly from the extremity on one branch to the trunk and back out to the small distant parts of another branch. Once all the branches are wrapped, he starts to shape them, moving them into the position he wants them from bends in the branches themselves to their overall direction so that foliage pads are placed in pleasing, balanced ways. It reminds me of how God wants to be Lord of all of my life, shaping and forming and crafting all of it from major branches to smaller parts to be an overall picture of beauty and wholeness.
An interesting part of bonsai's idea of beauty is the idea of dead wood. Part of the ideal of bonsai beauty is the idea of age, and the bonsai maker will cultivate bends in the branches and an overall downward, weighted-down droop to the branches of even a young bonsai tree to simulate age. Another way to simulate age is through dead wood on the trunk (shari) and branches (jin) where the bark is literally torn away to leave dead wood and simulate the wearing experience of age in a young tree.
In other words, the creator of bonsai actually intentionally makes scars to contribute to the beauty of the tree. I don't think God necessarily wounds us intentionally, although pruning can feel like it; we probably create enough wounds of our own as we pass through life and fall into scrapes and pits we could have avoided if we had listened. But the idea that the scars can be part of the beauty is intriguing. Do we lament our wounds instead of offering them to God to be formed into part of the work he is making? Do we try to cover scars that could be used to nourish others' healing as they see how the scars form part of the beauty in us? Do we really trust - in pain or in plenty - that God knows what he is doing in us?
http://artofbonsai.org/galleries/images/stemberger/small/stemberger_juniperus_procumbens.jpg
The final insight I gathered about bonsai making is that the artist shows through in the art. Some bonsai are crafted to look windswept and forlorn, evoking a favorite gnarled tree near the artist's usual hiking trail. Others are upright and stately, reminiscent of a childhood tree that perhaps housed a swing or treehouse. No matter the story behind it, the artist's own person shows up in some way in the art. And that is the goal of God's working in us as well: that we would reflect his image. The reason God got so riled up in the Old Testament about idols was that they showed how completely Israel had missed the point: instead of being the image of God, the reflection of his character and glory to those around them, they were worshipping images of wood and stone. What further purpose could we want but to reflect back the shining grace, strong justice, and tender mercy of our Father? As we come to know him, we will grow in love of him, and we will grow more like the One we love. This is what it means to be a tree "planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither" (Ps. 1:3).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bonsai
Of note, Stuart will have a lot more time to continue learning these and other lessons. There was a raffle at the end of the bonsai class. He won the demonstration bonsai. :)
First, I loved what the speaker said about how he picks plants with which to make a bonsai, a specially cultivated and shaped miniature tree: he looks for the ugliest ones. He didn't explain why, precisely, at least not that I remember, but it was an encouragement to me as I thought of God molding our lives. If our speaker can intentionally pick the ugly plants, surely God can use us with the brokenness we bring and can shape us over time into creatures of beauty and fruitfulness.
http://www.asktonythegardener.com/Article/tabid/55/smid/370/ArticleID/75/reftab/36/t/Bonsai-Plant-Art/Default.aspx
Time is another bonsai requirement. Bonsai, the teacher explained, is a long-term practice, a development of beauty of form and structure that requires patience since every change can require months to "set" and long-term shaping requires years. Families pass a tree down through generations since it can take that long to form it. It is a never-ending process, and you can never simply leave the tree alone as a finished work of art. Instead, as a living piece of art, it is constantly changing and growing and so requires ongoing molding and shaping. I remember learning in Old Testament class in college that one of the benefits of the Old Testament is seeing the work of God over years and centuries with his chosen people. Their recurrent failures, few luminous successes, and ongoing gradual transformation through the pages of the books of Law, Prophets, and Writings encourage me that God will be faithful to continue working in my own life and the lives of those around me.
Learning what leads to and inhibits growth was also interesting. For instance, in the process of shaping the tree to a certain shape, you often cut off much of its foliage growth. However, it is important to maintain at least the growth at the end of the branch since the branch will die if one cuts off all of its growth. It makes me wonder what parts of my life I expect to maintain if I do not allow room and cultivation for them to grow and be fruitful - simple things like playing piano, or certain oft-neglected relationships, sometimes even more important things like my spiritual life, etc. In a busy lifestyle, it is easy to forget the importance of maintaining growth and exposure to light and food for the important but sometimes not-so-urgent parts of my life.
Another growth principle involves encouraging ramification (branch formation) and fuller foliage pads through pruning. If new growth is pinched off (e.g. removing the new bright green growth in the spring), it will allow the tree to funnel more energy back into its branches and remaining leaves. For deciduous trees, sometimes defoliation is practiced (removing all the leaves) since reformed leaves are smaller and more numerous after defoliation. For both evergreens and deciduous trees, new branches are formed, and the remaining foliage pads that have been pinched off grow in more fully.
http://www.mybonsaibuddy.com/749px-Trident_Maple_bonsai_52,_October_10,_2008.jpg
Pruning is always something that makes me a bit nervous in gardening. It requires cutting off something that looks like growth (e.g. a leggy stem of my petunias with flowers on the end) and trusting that more and fuller growth (e.g. more flowers closer to the plant and a fuller, more attractive result) will result from the loss. In the same way in my own life, pruning takes courage. It involves passing through pain, allowing God to take away something I thought was growth and flowers and trusting that he will cause different and more beautiful growth in its place. It can mean redirecting energy into remaining branches and leaves when distractions are fewer. It means trusting the as-yet-unseen.
A final aspect of growth involves growth that can be missed - that of the roots. The overall picture and part of the beauty of a bonsai tree involves the roots. They are considered in deciding how to shape the tree, and they grow when the tree seems most dead: in the winter. It is encouraging to me to think that the foundational strength of the tree, the ability to stand tall against storms and winds, the deep reaching for water, the stability and, well, rootedness of the tree actually grow when the tree looks dead. As I look at my own life and the lives of those around me, where could growth be occurring under the surface where things look lifeless? When we pass through periods of barrenness and cold and lack of fruit, can we trust God to be causing our roots to grow, actually to make us more stable in the very times when we feel least productive and secure?
http://mfs.piccsy.com/t/pall-bonsai-winter-156626-475-545.jpg
Besides organic growth, the bonsai maker/cultivator actually shapes the branches and directs where they will grow. He does this by first wiring the branches, using flexible coated wire to wrap in spiral fashion the branches nearly from the extremity on one branch to the trunk and back out to the small distant parts of another branch. Once all the branches are wrapped, he starts to shape them, moving them into the position he wants them from bends in the branches themselves to their overall direction so that foliage pads are placed in pleasing, balanced ways. It reminds me of how God wants to be Lord of all of my life, shaping and forming and crafting all of it from major branches to smaller parts to be an overall picture of beauty and wholeness.
An interesting part of bonsai's idea of beauty is the idea of dead wood. Part of the ideal of bonsai beauty is the idea of age, and the bonsai maker will cultivate bends in the branches and an overall downward, weighted-down droop to the branches of even a young bonsai tree to simulate age. Another way to simulate age is through dead wood on the trunk (shari) and branches (jin) where the bark is literally torn away to leave dead wood and simulate the wearing experience of age in a young tree.
In other words, the creator of bonsai actually intentionally makes scars to contribute to the beauty of the tree. I don't think God necessarily wounds us intentionally, although pruning can feel like it; we probably create enough wounds of our own as we pass through life and fall into scrapes and pits we could have avoided if we had listened. But the idea that the scars can be part of the beauty is intriguing. Do we lament our wounds instead of offering them to God to be formed into part of the work he is making? Do we try to cover scars that could be used to nourish others' healing as they see how the scars form part of the beauty in us? Do we really trust - in pain or in plenty - that God knows what he is doing in us?
The final insight I gathered about bonsai making is that the artist shows through in the art. Some bonsai are crafted to look windswept and forlorn, evoking a favorite gnarled tree near the artist's usual hiking trail. Others are upright and stately, reminiscent of a childhood tree that perhaps housed a swing or treehouse. No matter the story behind it, the artist's own person shows up in some way in the art. And that is the goal of God's working in us as well: that we would reflect his image. The reason God got so riled up in the Old Testament about idols was that they showed how completely Israel had missed the point: instead of being the image of God, the reflection of his character and glory to those around them, they were worshipping images of wood and stone. What further purpose could we want but to reflect back the shining grace, strong justice, and tender mercy of our Father? As we come to know him, we will grow in love of him, and we will grow more like the One we love. This is what it means to be a tree "planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither" (Ps. 1:3).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bonsai
Of note, Stuart will have a lot more time to continue learning these and other lessons. There was a raffle at the end of the bonsai class. He won the demonstration bonsai. :)
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