I am the true vine, and my father is the gardener.
He prunes every branch in me that bears fruit.
Lord, that’s easy to read, trips off the tongue,
But who wants to be pruned? I mean… really?
I came for all the benefits, all the upwardly-mobile stuff,
All the good and refreshing and happy things.
I didn’t come to be changed, to be transformed,
I mean… I might not cope, it all feels like hard work.
Someone once said that you accept us just as we are,
And I believe that, I need that, I hold onto that.
It’s a precious thing in a harsh world of judgement.
But they also said that you love us too much
To leave us as you find us. You want to bring more from us,
To make more possible for us. To bring fullness and life.
And that requires change and development.
Like a garden being primed for fruit,
Rather than left free for the incursion of weeds.
Help! I can’t do this alone. We can’t do this alone.
Thank you that you also said, ‘Come to me if you are wrecked,
If you are shattered, exhausted, broken from this life.
For my ways are good and my patterns are better.’
And so, in my wrestling I hold onto both,
The pruning and the uplift, the challenge and the acceptance.
Thank you that you promised not to break a bruised reed,
Or put out those of us who are small, flickering lights.