Stay Under the Process of Divine Excision

Neither the garden of providence nor that of nature can do its work, unless the seed which is planted remain quiet in its position. If the material seed, under the pretense that a moister or drier, a richer or poorer, soil is better, or for any other reason, is removed from place to place, the processes of nature are hindered, re-production does not take effect. So, if the soul of man, when it is planted in the midst of God's providence, does not remain quiet under the divine operation, but, before its coats of selfishness can be displaced, moves off in its blind and dead life into what it considers a better soil, it cannot be born into the true and living life. The hand of the great Master, operating by its prescribed laws, will always perfectly accomplish its purpose, if the subject upon which it operates will remain fixed and steady to the process, but not otherwise.

One stroke of God's providence, perhaps by destroying a man's barn or ship, will remove the coat of inordinate desire of possession. Another stroke of the same providence, perhaps by unfolding some act of human treachery, will strike off and destroy the corrupting envelope of inordinate desire for human applause. Another blow, coming in another direction, by disappointing and destroying some lofty and cherished expectations, will separate and remove from the soul the destroying adhesions of a wicked ambition. And thus every inordinate propensity and passion may be smitten and removed one after another, until the principle of love, which had been enchained by the tyranny of lust, disenthralled from this heavy oppression, returns at last, and finds its center in God.

Stay, therefore, son of man, under the process of the divine excision. Remain in the union of time and place, however painful it may be, until God shall bring thee into the union of disposition. If he smites thee, it is  only that he may heal. If the dead limb is cut off, it is only that a new one may be grafted in. If, like the seed  in the earth, thy spirit must be planted in the dark­ness of the burial place, it will find an angel in the tomb, who will burst its prison house. If thou must be brought down, and crucified, and perish in the dead Adam, it is only that thou mayst be re-produced, and elevated, and made joyful in the living Jesus.

— A Treatise on Divine Union (1851) Part 6, Chapter 6.

The Lord's Spiritual Garden

Providence, considered as the divine arrangement of things in relation to men, is the Lord's spiritual garden. It is to the spiritual growth what the earth is to the germination and growth of material products. If it be true, that the earth is the appointed instrumentality, through which and by which the seeds of things grow up, it is not the less true, though it may be less obvious, that the arrangements of Providence, spread out in the wide and variegated surface of things and events, constitute, in like manner, the instrumentality, the receptive and productive medium, in which the seed of the spiritual life is to be planted, to germinate and perfect itself.

The analogy is not limited to the productive medium. It extends to that which is produced, and also to the manner of production. The seed, which is planted in the earth, is a dead seed. So man's soul, when it is first cast into the soil of God's providence, is a dead seed. They are both alike dead, the material seed and the seed of immortality.

A Plant in the Lord's Garden

In early life I was acquainted with a woman, a resident of the village of my youth....

In her earlier — I will not say her better — days, she held a leading position in society, to which she seemed to be well entitled by great excellence and intelligence of character, as well as by wealth. In the alternations and reverses of the times, her property was entirely lost; her husband died; all her near relatives died also, or were scattered abroad, and she was left entirely alone. She was supported in her old age at the public expense; but, out of respect to her character, the town authorities permitted her to occupy a single room in the house which she had formerly owned.  At the time I became acquainted with her, she was nearly seventy years of age, and had long been unable to leave her room without assistant. But she was far from supposing that God, in depriving her of friends and property, and in confining her in her old age to these narrow limits, was unkind. Her constant companions were her Bible and a few old books on practical and experimental religion. She had faith. No complaint escaped from her lips. In the walls of her little room she felt herself far more closely and lovingly encircled by the arms of her heavenly Father, than if she had been left in the greatest enlargements of society. A plant in the Lord's garden, closely hemmed in, but diligently nurtured, she resembled that patriarch, who is described as "a fruitful bough, whose branches run over the wall."

— edited from A Treatise on Divine Union (1851) Part 6, Chapter 5.