CAFO President Jedd Medefind opened the CAFO2026 Summit in Atlanta, Ga. sharing about the conference theme, “LESS: Fewer branches, better fruit.” Watch the full keynote below along with the written version of the talk.
This past Christmas at my parents’ farm in California, I went out to visit … the grapes. They were glad to see me, I’m sure, but looked … weary. The clean, symmetrical rows of springtime were long gone. Every plant was a tangle, a riot of lifeless vines, sprawled in every direction. That happens every year.
My dad taught my brothers and me to prune when we were boys. I remember a winter morning, cool and foggy, Dad in a flannel shirt, showing us how the vines were to be cut. He carefully selected the healthiest, rightly-directed branches and reduced them back sharply. Then, he began to cut off all the others.
Long after I thought he should be done, he kept cutting. And cutting. It was brutal. He’s going to kill ‘em, I thought.
But this is what he said: “It might seem harsh. But if you don’t cut like this, here’s what will happen: next summer you’ll have lots of grapes — but they’ll be small and bitter.”
Come next July, he was right. We’d cut deeply, and the harvest was delightful. “You’ve got to cut much more than you’d think,” Dad said. “The good, sweet fruit you want just won’t come any other way.”
Fewer branches make for better fruit.
Our lives as overgrown vines
I often see my life in those tangled vines. Healthy growth so easily becomes over grown — overextended, overspread.
And here is the simple truth: for the good, sweet fruit that you and I desire, our lives must be pruned — perhaps much more than we imagine.
Scripture uses many metaphors to convey this idea. In Hebrews, it’s an overloaded runner who must “lay aside” not only sin, but “every unnecessary weight…”
In the parables, it’s wheat that’s alive but yields no fruit because it’s choked by thorns.
In John 15, Jesus’ last night with his disciples, he gives the image of a grapevine. It’s growing, rooted in the vine … but it needs pruning so it can bear the full fruit God intends.
“I am the vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit. While every branch that bears fruit, he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”
This pruning is clearly God’s work first. He’s the vinedresser. And yet as he so often does, our good Father invites us to join him in His work.
So today, let’s consider three questions together:
- What is pruning?
- Why is pruning so continually necessary? and
- How can we join our Father in His pruning work?
All of this toward a single goal: fewer branches, better fruit.
What is pruning?
Pruning is a strategic reduction for the sake of future abundance.
That means pruning is an act of faith. To choose reduction now requires confidence in things we can’t yet see. That’s because reduction looks like loss. It feels like loss. But faith anticipates that God can use reduction to bring abundance. even as the farmer cuts on a cold, winter morning, he can see ahead to the next summer’s harvest. Pruning is an act of faith;
Pruning is also an act of focus. We prune because we recognize that our resources are not infinite; they’re finite. If the water and other resources drawn up from the soil are spread thin, sent out to too many vines, the result will not be good. Many grapes — but small and bitter. Through pruning, finite resources are focused into fewer branches — so the fruit will be luscious and sweet.
In pruning, faith … focuses … finite resources … for future abundance.
Now here’s something great. The principle of pruning — like all of God’s truth — yields benefit in every part of life, even for those who may not know Him.
Read the best business books — Drucker, Collins, Covey. You’ll encounter this truth again and again.
Here’s Drucker: “The first step in a growth policy is not to decide where and how to grow. It is to decide what to abandon.”
Here’s Jim Collins in Good to Great: “Most of us … have ever-expanding ‘to-do’ lists, trying to build momentum by doing, doing, doing. But those who built the good-to-great companies made as much use of ‘stop-doing’ lists as ‘to-do’ lists.”
Effective leadership requires aggressive pruning. For any enterprise to go from good to great demands strategic reduction. That’s true for companies, for ministries, for families. It’s true everywhere.
Prayer for pruning
And you know, I’ve prayed. One prayer I have for this conference is that the workshops, everything else, will help us do that — help us see clearly the few things that are most important, most strategic, most likely to impact for good — so we cut back secondary things, sharply — in our personal lives, in our ministries — for better fruit.
One thing I’ve specifically prayed for all of us here at CAFO2026 is that what we’ll learn here will help us do that: see more clearly the few things that matter most — in our ministry, in our personal lives — so that we can stop doing, prune, many secondary things.
One thing I’ve been specifically praying for this gathering, for each of you, is that you’ll literally leave here with less to do than when you arrived. That the workshops and everything else will help you refine a clearer picture of what things truly matter most — in ministry, in programs, in family, everything — so you can give yourself more fully to those few things … and prune off all the rest.
But here’s a big caveat: for the Christian, the goal is never just material productivity alone — more widgets, bigger numbers, even for ministry.
Our highest goal in pruning is a certain kind of fruit: fruit that lasts.
- That kind of fruit appears first inside us: it’s love and joy and peace and all the other fruit of the Spirit.
- These are the first markers of a truly flourishing life.
- And from there, those internal qualities spill outward into everything we do.
- They bring a distinct sweetness and powerful generativity to our work, family life, to everything.
- This fruit, it’s not the kind that looks great but soon rots. In Jesus’ words, it is “fruit that lasts.” The good it brings to others keeps giving — even after we’ve left the room, left the organization, even left this earth.
That’s what pruning is all about. Fewer branches, better fruit!
This brings us to our second question. If a well-pruned life is so good, why is it so hard to keep one?
Why is pruning so continually necessary?
Here’s part of the answer: When a plant is healthy, it grows. Branches multiply. That’s good!
Some of that addition comes simply because we enjoy things — hopefully, we enjoy our work; we enjoy friends and shared meals; we enjoy seeing our kids play sports or learn instruments.
Then, on top of things we enjoy, we have dreams and goals. This can also be very good. When our ambitions are shaped by God, the pursuit of worthy goals becomes one of life’s great joys.
My friends, that’s a good life — pursuing good things, enjoying good things —especially if we can do this amid healthy rhythms of work and rest.
The problems begin when we begin to grasp for more than God intends.
We add and add, but never subtract. Our schedules get fuller and fuller. And before you know it, our lives start looking like those overgrown vines at the end of summer, branches sprawling in every direction.
An overgrown life
Let me make that personal. Here’s what my life looks like when I do not prune.
I overschedule my days, so I’m constantly running from task to task. I leave no time for transitions, for breaks or interruptions, or even the restroom. Rachel comes in and sees me there behind the computer, wiggling around, and says, “Need to go potty?”
After a day like that, I finish exhausted, with little energy for people or recreation or really anything that takes effort. I feel drawn to things that are passive and numbing, like screens or alcohol.
And of course, days like that can become weeks and months — with little time for things that are important but not urgent: like sleep or exercise, or serving others or time with God, or date nights with Rachel.
When I’m living this way, an overgrown life, here’s what I see inside me:
- My thoughts center on myself — my concerns, my tasks, my interests.
- I become less attentive, less focused on what I’m doing or who I’m with.
- I get irritated easily.
- I miss many of the blessings all around me — my family and the beauty of creation and simple pleasures … so I’m much less thankful.
- I’m also less peaceful, less joyful, less creative … and honestly, less loving.
- And in all this, I often feel that God is very far off, too .
My friends, that is the fruit of an unpruned life: lots of grapes, but they are mostly small and bitter.
Why do we do that? Why do I do that? Why do I so quickly grasp for more than God intends? Here’s the answer I’d like to give you, my political spin, what I sometimes tell myself.
See, I’ve taken StrengthsFinder, and it says I’m a “maximizer.” (Any maximizers out there?)
- I want to make the most of life, to seize the day.
- I want to do my work well and make a difference.
- I want to see my family thrive.
- I want to take the 5 talents God has given me and give Him 10 back someday.
And you know, that’s all true. I do feel that way. And it can be a very good thing to seek to make the most of our lives — to maximize.
BUT … when that God-inspired impulse starts grasping for more than God intends, that maximizing has very little to do with God. I may tell myself it’s about Him … and about Rachel and the kids … and ministry and people I care about. But really, when maximizing becomes grasping, it’s mostly about me.
It’s about loading my life up with things I want. Even deeper, it’s about grasping for security and identity — perhaps especially through what I accomplish or possess.
That’s the root of an overgrown life, at least for me.
Greed is idolatry
To use an old-fashioned word, there’s a strange greed here. Greed is reaching for more than God intends. Colossians says that greed is idolatry.
Why? Because a greedy heart adores things that are not eternal. It grasps and piles and hoards things like money or achievements or ministry growth … or our kids’ sports or their education. Whatever gives us security and identity.
These things aren’t inherently bad. They may be very good. But they are not God. They are not the highest good.
And if we feel deep down that they are the highest good, we will find it very hard to ever stop grasping. We’ll find it nearly impossible to prune — especially things that give us security and identity.
We’ll overschedule our days. We’ll overschedule our kids. We’ll work nonstop. Or we’ll let youth sports and other kid activities trample family life. We’ll keep glancing at a little glowing screen, again and again, all the time — even at night, even on vacation. Who knows, maybe we’d even bow down to a bronze statue.
Greed is idolatry.
Is there any hope for people like this — for me, for you? Is the piling up, the accumulation, the relentless activity — is it just inevitable?
No. Thanks be to God, it is not. If we dwell in Him, our Father will prune. And He invites us to join Him. So here we come to our final question: how do we do that?
How can we join our Father in His pruning work?
The type of pruning we’re talking about here does not begin with willpower.
Rather, this vision in John 15 springs from the truth of John 14. You know what Jesus tells us there?
He says that you and I, my friends, we have not been left orphans. We are sons and daughters.
As many of you know, when a child is adopted from a bad situation, it’s not uncommon for her new parents — even months after bringing her home— to find under her bed or in her closet piles of hidden food — bread or candy or whatever she could get her hands on, often stale or molding.
Why? Because she still believes, deep down, that her security and identity depend entirely on what she can grasp and hold.
It’s only as she comes to know, to truly feel, her new identity, who she really is, a beloved daughter, chosen and dearly loved — only then can she begin to release — to receive without grasping.
My friends, if we are to prune, to release things we’ve held tight, we must live in that new identity, too. We are sons and daughters. We share the family name, a full inheritance with Christ. Our Father says over me, over you, before anything we achieve or possess: “This is my beloved son, my beloved daughter, in whom I am well pleased.”
That is our security: our Father will provide what we truly need. That is our identity: before anything we achieve or accomplish, we are His beloved children.
And when it is, we can release; we can open clenched hands; we can join our Father in His pruning work.
We may not choose what to prune
Now, this we must know: sometimes, our part in the pruning is very small. We may have little to do but humbly receive the Father’s pruning — perhaps cuts we’d never have chosen to make on our own.
I think of my Dad. He loved working in the orchard almost every day, well into his 70s. But recently, pain in his back and feet has greatly limited him. His ability to farm has been greatly reduced.
How does a reduction like that bring abundance? At times, it feels like all loss. I hate seeing the man I look up to most in the world, who could lift me with one arm when I was a boy, now so limited by pain.
But I also see in my dad — more than ever — the calm confidence of a man who knows his heavenly Father. When I ask him about the pain, he’ll say things like, “It hurts a bit, and I miss a lot of things. But I’m so very blessed.”
I also see that his new limits free him to spend more time with my Mom, and pouring into his 22 grandkids, and mentoring young people at church. And you know, he’s showing me and many others, too, what it looks like to face very hard things with grace … and even gratitude.
In my view, that’s fruit that lasts.
So sometimes, our part in pruning is only to humbly receive. But other times, God invites us into the work, right alongside Him.
I think it always starts with prayer. “Lord, teach me to prune. Show me what to keep and what to cut. Give me eyes to see what really matters most here. ”
God will answer that prayer. And as He does, we begin to join Him in the cutting. There are three distinct targets.
The three targets for pruning
First are the obvious, the clearly bad things. We might call them Parasites. These things suck life and give nothing in return. Left to grow, they will destroy. Pornography, gossip, addictions, media that feeds our envy or anxiety. Speaking of such things, Jesus could not be more clear: “Cut it off and throw it away!”
Our second target is things that aren’t so bad. Farmers call them “suckers.” Suckers are branches that grow fast and look healthy, but yield little fruit. They’re less obvious than parasites, but reduce a harvest greatly. It’s things like constantly checking news, social media, low-value entertainment, activities that crowd out family life and spiritual life
Parasites and suckers. Cutting them can make a huge difference. [Pause]. But the wise farmer never stops there. Even after the bad and neutral are removed, he keeps looking — for branches that are good … but not best.
These can be the hardest to prune.
They’re activities that have borne good fruit … but may no longer be God’s best for us: maybe a title we’ve held … or a side job with good income … or a legacy program in our ministry … that it’s now time to release so that finite resources can be refocused.
Years ago, when I left the White House for my current role with CAFO, I’d still get invitations to speak or write on political issues because of my prior work. I loved that — it was part of my identity, and extra income, too. But I began to sense God saying, “That’s not the work I have for you in this season.” To needed to be all in, fully focused on CAFO. So I cut out virtually all political involvement — not because it wasn’t good, but so I could give myself fully to God’s best in the new season.
My friends, it’s not easy to prune. The parasites. The suckers. The good things that are no longer best.
But I am very confident: you and I will not regret that choice.
I shared earlier some of the bitter fruit I taste when my life is overgrown: overscheduled days … exhausted evenings … self-absorbed thoughts.
But I can also tell you, very honestly, what it feels like when I do join God in His pruning.
- My days are still very full, but not nearly so frenetic.
- I work hard, but I can also rest and play.
- My thoughts are less self-consumed, and I think more about others’ needs.
- I’m less irritable.
- I do more of things that are not urgent but important — like sleep and time with God each morning, and date nights with Rachel.
- I notice beauty and blessings all around me — in people and creation and simple pleasures — so I’m much more thankful.
- I’m also more peaceful, more creative … and honestly, more loving.
- And beneath all this, I feel that God is near — not because He wasn’t before, but because I’m more aware of His presence.
My friends, I want these things for you. I want them more for myself, too.
And we will not find them in overgrown lives. Strategic reduction is necessary.
I’ll finish with a story.
A story of a life well lived
I hope many of you have read the novel, Theo of Golden.
The story and its main character are so beautiful. It helped me to see and feel the power of small acts of attentive love.
After reading it, I listened to several interviews of the author, Allen Levi. He’s lived a fascinating life: lawyer, musician, judge, bestselling author. But as I listened to him, it became clear those things are all very secondary to him. They’re not his security or identity. I sensed, “This is a man who knows who he is, a son of the Father.”
Allen also wrote another, lesser-known book, titled The Last Sweet Mile. It’s the true story of how, when Allen’s brother Gary was diagnosed with cancer, Allen decided to cut back everything in life, his music and speaking and everything else, for one thing: to be with his brother and care for him.
You might say Allen pruned his life right down to the nub.
Gary lived for one year after his diagnosis, and Allen was at his side every day. So many sweet conversations and shared meals and songs sung together, especially in the early months.
But also, many brutal moments of fading capacities and suffering, and very physical caregiving, and silent, tearful prayers by Gary’s bed. For me, it was a vivid picture of the reduction and focus that are always a part of pruning in one way or another.
At the end of the book, Allen includes a letter he wrote to his brother on the one-year anniversary of Gary’s death, woven with sorrow and love.
He said this: “I tell people, to their obvious surprise, that the year you and I shared with cancer was the best year of my life. Difficult and hurtful, yes. But by any measure that really matters–depth of purpose, intensity of focus, freedom from triviality, honesty of affection, genuineness of love and joy and peace, reliance on and trust in God — it was “The Year” for me … And in recalling it today … I do so with a prayer that God will keep me at the place where I was when every day was about one thing — loving the weak (you) and trusting the strong (God).”
My friends, a pruned life will look very different for each of us and in each season of life. But I am so confident that that beautiful prayer can be answered, and it will yield lives both focused and fruitful.
And in that, I hope today you feel a certain lightness and hope. Because an overgrown life can be reduced. And in God, reduction is not loss. In fact, it may be the only way to the life that we long for — a life that’s sweeter and more generative, and abundant with love.
Fewer branches, better fruit.
