I was gardening a few Saturdays ago and there was a bush and an out of control vine that were causing me trouble. The vine is a pretty one. The flowers are absolutely stunning, but it climbs, grabs, and takes over anything in that garden. That vine is strong and the roots are deep, the new shoots come up all over the front yard and the garden, and climbs, grabs, and takes over anything in reach. The bush is a butterfly bush that is absolutely lovely if is healthy and flowering. The butterfly bush does what its name suggests when it has enough blooms. Butterflies are drawn to this kind of bush and its blooms are a pretty purple.
The butterfly bush would have been a lovely big "bushy" bush if it had not been taken over by the vine. After I wound the vine up, on the banister on the porch, I went to work on the bush. As I pulled the vines off of the butterfly bush I noticed that many of the branches that I thought were strong and healthy, were actually barren, brown, and dead except for maybe one flower. The trunk of the bush was only about an inch long, which then split off into two branches. Those two branches should have been reaching up and should have been much stronger than they were. I took some yarn and tied the two branches closer with plans of tying it tighter each week to bring the branches closer and stronger. The bush was still leaning almost flat against the ground. I took a bamboo stick and used it to prop up the bush so that it may grow straight.
This experience strangely reminded me of a story I have often heard in church in regards to another bush. Hugh B. Brown's The Currant Bush:
"... I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and went after it, and I cut it down, and pruned it, and clipped it back until there was nothing left but a little clump of stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it, and smiled, and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush talk. And I thought I heard it say this: “How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me, because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.” That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”
"Time passed. Years passed, and I found myself in England. I was in command of a cavalry unit in the Canadian Army. I had made rather rapid progress as far as promotions are concerned, and I held the rank of field officer in the British Canadian Army. And I was proud of my position. And there was an opportunity for me to become a general. I had taken all the examinations. I had the seniority. There was just one man between me and that which for ten years I had hoped to get, the office of general in the British Army. I swelled up with pride. And this one man became a casualty, and I received a telegram from London. It said: “Be in my office tomorrow morning at 10:00,” signed by General Turner in charge of all Canadian forces. I called in my valet, my personal servant. I told him to polish my buttons, to brush my hat and my boots, and to make me look like a general because that is what I was going to be. He did the best he could with what he had to work on, and I went up to London. I walked smartly into the office of the General, and I saluted him smartly, and he gave me the same kind of a salute a senior officer usually gives—a sort of “Get out of the way, worm!” He said, “Sit down, Brown.” Then he said, “I’m sorry I cannot make the appointment. You are entitled to it. You have passed all the examinations. You have the seniority. You’ve been a good officer, but I can’t make the appointment. You are to return to Canada and become a training officer and a transport officer. Someone else will be made a general.” That for which I had been hoping and praying for ten years suddenly slipped out of my fingers.
"Then he went into the other room to answer the telephone, and I took a soldier’s privilege of looking on his desk. I saw my personal history sheet. Right across the bottom of it in bold, block-type letters was written, “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.” We were not very well liked in those days. When I saw that, I knew why I had not been appointed. I already held the highest rank of any Mormon in the British Army. He came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.” I saluted him again, but not quite as smartly. I saluted out of duty and went out. I got on the train and started back to my town, 120 miles away, with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. And every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure. You will be called a coward when you get home. You raised all those Mormon boys to join the army, then you sneak off home.” I knew what I was going to get, and when I got to my tent, I was so bitter that I threw my cap and my saddle brown belt on the cot. I clinched my fists and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?” I was as bitter as gall.
"And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness and my bitterness. While kneeling there I heard a song being sung in an adjoining tent. A number of Mormon boys met regularly every Tuesday night. I usually met with them. We would sit on the floor and have a Mutual Improvement Association. As I was kneeling there, praying for forgiveness, I heard their voices singing:
“It may not be on the mountain height
Or over the stormy sea;
It may not be at the battle’s front
My Lord will have need of me;
But if, by a still, small voice he calls
To paths that I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine:
I’ll go where you want me to go.”
(Hymns, no. 75.)
"I arose from my knees a humble man. And now, almost fifty years later, I look up to him and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.” I see now that it was wise that I should not become a general at that time, because if I had I would have been senior officer of all western Canada, with a lifelong, handsome salary, a place to live, and a pension when I’m no good any longer, but I would have raised my six daughters and two sons in army barracks. They would no doubt have married out of the Church, and I think I would not have amounted to anything. I haven’t amounted to very much as it is, but I have done better than I would have done if the Lord had let me go the way I wanted to go.
"I wanted to tell you that oft-repeated story because there are many of you who are going to have some very difficult experiences: disappointment, heartbreak, bereavement, defeat. You are going to be tested and tried to prove what you are made of. I just want you to know that if you don’t get what you think you ought to get, remember, “God is the gardener here. He knows what he wants you to be.” Submit yourselves to his will. Be worthy of his blessings, and you will get his blessings."(January 1973, Hugh B. Brown.)
Oftentimes we may think we are happy. The gardener has plans you, so there'll come a time when he'll take off those vines, tie you up, and prop you up. He has plans for each and every one of us, and though we go through trials they are for a purpose. We may not know them now, but I promise that if we listen to The Lord and give in to His will, we will be built up and built up in the way we are meant to. I bear my testimony on God's plan for us and that He knows what is best for us, even when it sometimes hurts us. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
I am the Primary Activity Days Assistant Leader. (Phew, that's a mouthful!). I just love my calling. I was home from Utah for only two weeks when I was called into the bishop's office. I knew that my dad (Ward Sunday School President) was in need of a gospel doctrine teacher because the current one is moving soon. I knew he put my name in, but I guess that the primary president got to me first. I went into the bishop's office and he asked if I would be an Activity Days leader.
I was shocked. I fully expected to be given a calling I wasn't prepared for in the least, now I was totally unprepared to wrap my mind around the calling he had in mind for me. But as I sat in that chair in his office, I warmed to idea, literally. I literally felt the warmth of the Holy Ghost saying that this was supposed to happen. I accepted the calling and I was sustained and set apart the following Sunday. 
My first activity came around and I was terrified. I didn't know how many girls would come or even if I would get my message across. It was on service and we were going to be braiding each others hair. First I opened with a song and prayer, then I started talking about service and how important it is. I talked about when my dad was deployed and the youth from youth conference that year came and cleaned our house. I talked about how much it meant to my mom when the youth came, she just cried. She was so grateful for the wonderful Christlike service that the youth and their leaders gave was beautiful. 
