Where the grass grows most green
And the earth yields fruit in abundance
God is tending vines.
The ones that need most care
Are those that are broken
The ones who cannot see.
Have a place In His Kingdom
Who turn their face to wind
Who refuse to drink the rain
Or be healed in sunlight.
Whose wounds are deep
Whose pains are the focus
Of the way they are.
Whose eyes are blind to the sun.
God tends these.
Plants set aside for special care
To bind the stem and make it whole
Dead leaves must first be cut away.
Rotting branches ripped asunder
Nothing left but the very smallest part
That still holds life.
I guarantee that the human eye
Will not see it till the Heavenly hand
Points to that tiny piece of living wood.
That cannot die.
Pruning to the very heart
All of the rotteness of the heart exposed
All of the hopelessness
All of the things that hurt and make the wood weep
And then become dry and brittle
Become visible, and become more than they ever were.
The foul stench of putrid leaves
Because He has to reach
To the very soul of the pain
We can only mend when we face the pain we are in.
His Hand can only heal
When it reaches deep
When it uncovers the very root of
Pulling at the branches only causes them to spring back
It takes the strength of the sharpness of an axe
To destroy the wood.
Healing comes as the plant
Submits to the higher wounding
By His hand.
When finally, all the ways of relieving pain
Make no sense at all and hope gets lost.
When the storm clouds gather pregnant with thunder
Dark sky shadows the sun
And the lightening strikes.
When the flower seems to wither
And die on the branches
When nothing seems left at all.
When to be pulled up and cast away
Seems the human answer
Just a little greenness on the stem
Starts to show
New and stronger leaves
Force their way through the barrness
Dead wood comes away like something unconnected
There is fruit on the vine in the making
There is sun on the stem and there is sunlight in the branches.
One day, grapes that can remember
The day the vine finally shrivelled and died
The day of death, the time they all said
It needs to be uprooted now
Speak to others of resurrection
In the hot house of the Father
Still tended by His hand
Choice fruits are ripened
And fall at the feet of the hungry.
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR,
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE Read more articles by Jacky Hughes or search for other articles by topic below.