So, I head to my quiet place – my one little spot void of questions, issues of acceptance or denial, or anything remotely contrary. I walk the little brick path and open the gate and I find the answer to my spinning day.
There, twining and weaving toward the sun without a care is my passion vine, appropriately named. She’s meandering, stretching her graceful tendrils and wrapping them around the sturdy iron arbor. Though a few of her weaker strands stray like fly-away hair and wave with every slight breeze, the more mature ones cling to the strength found at the arbor. Instinctively, they rely and trust on the gentle bend and curve of the iron following its lead and finding security in what it’s designed to do. It’s the support of the arbor that gives direction and purpose to the vine and brings forth God-glorifying beauty as it blooms.
Sadly, some branches refuse the strength made available to them choosing instead to lie fallow, clumped around the base with no clear direction or distinction – it’s difficult to bloom from down there, I suppose.
Help me to always cling to your strength. Help me to remember that without you, I’m that weak tendril waving in the breeze, going about life at my own will. Be that strength and support to those who need it today, I pray. In Jesus’ name. Amen.