The Branch

He came, as he always did, and looked over the branches. The vinedresser let his fingers rustle through the leaves, feeling each one’s health. He picked some fruit, bounced it in the palm of his hand checking its weight. Approving, he lifted the fruit to his nose and inhaled. The fragrance caused a smile to appear on his face, and he took a bite. “Delightful,” he whispered to himself. He carefully inspected each connection between branch and vine all the way down to the roots. Reaching in the front pouch of his apron, he scooped out a handful of fresh soil and patted it around the base of the vine. He nodded with satisfaction as he stood up and step back to see the whole vine. His glance moved to the weakest branch. He’d been watching it for a while. “It’s time,” he said as he finally turned to look at me. “This branch has to go.”

I was sitting close by on clay pot turned upside down, watching his every move. The way he cares for my branches is flawless. He sees details that I cannot. He dresses the cries of the vine that I fail to hear. He and the vine are in complete unison. I am in the vine and the vine is in me, but I’m still learning to be one with him. I often offshoot my ideas instead of letting the flow of the vine create in me. He is patient with me. He waits on me to surrender, watching me progress. And for reasons I cannot explain, I think he enjoys the process as much as the arrival.

I knew the branch the vinedresser was speaking of. Although I didn’t want to admit it, I knew that the branch was not okay. I even tried to fix it. Perhaps, more accurately, I tried hiding it. I hung hopes on it like a string of Christmas tree lights. I adorned it with feelings and dreams and ideas giving it the illusion of life. I didn’t notice…I chose not to see that it was dead. I remember when it sprouted forth in an explosive season of newness. With anticipation, I watched it grow. But that branch never produced. It only grew in weakness and frailty.

“It’s time,” he said drawing my attention back to him. The vine, feeling the heavy decay of the the branch, seemed quick to agree. “But…,” I intervened, “I really like that branch. Remember when it started? Remember that season? It was exciting! Can’t we nurture it, give it special food?”

The vinedresser inspected the branch again, “Come, see.” He showed me how the connection between this branch and vine was not true and not secure. “This branch has no future.” His words pierced my heart but his voice was filled with irrefutable truth and compassion. And the truth is, he wanted it to be a strong branch too: if for no other reason than he cares about the things that I care about. I was hesitant, still hunting for a way to save the branch.

At precisely the right time, the vine spoke up, pushing back the leaves of a healthy branch. “See what life looks like?” he reminded me. The contrast was clear, There was no denying that my beloved branch was dead. Standing by my side, talking with me as a confidant, the vinedresser explained, “When the branch cracks and breaks off, and it will break off, it will pull fruitful branches down with it as it falls to the earth. This dead branch poses a threat to the life flowing from the vine. This branch has to go.” There was a pause as they waited for my consent. I looked at the vine; his commitment to life was convincing. I looked at the vinedresser, tears in my eyes and a tinge of pain in my heart, and relented, “It’s time. I trust you.”

The vinedresser leaned over, kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear, “Your surrender is beautiful.” I stepped back, bracing myself for…I’m not sure exactly. The unknown, perhaps? What will it be like without this branch? Or, maybe it was pain that I was anticipating. Although the branch was not connected strongly to the vine, it was connected securely to something in me. Would it hurt? I tensed up again. The vine promptly reached around me in comfort and strength, his embrace was like a seat for me, replacing my need to brace myself. We watched as the master gardener began to work.

He wasn’t hasty or brutal as he removed the dead branch. He tenderly removed the feelings and dreams and ideas I had adorned the limb with. He placed each one in a pocket that was on the upper inside his apron, right next to his heart. “Don’t worry, I’ll carry those for you,” the vinedresser assured me. But my concern heightened again as he began to unwrap hope from the branch. “Careful!” I cried out. The vine gave extra support at the tremble in my voice. The vinedresser stopped. “Come, help me,” he invited me. The vine lowered me down and loosened his embrace. I walked over to the vinedresser. He placed my hand in his and intertwined our fingers. Together we removed the string of hope from the frail branch with great intention not to damage a single thread. “Your hope has no future on this branch, but in me it is safe,” the vinedresser softly spoke as he pulled the top of his apron out. “Will you give me your hope?” I raised the coil of hope over the top his apron and lowered it down on the inside. Peaking over the edge, I watched my hope settle into its place.

To my great surprise, the other side of the vinedresser’s apron wasn’t a dark, stale, forgotten storage-bin. My hope fell into his very heart—alive with a rhythm of joy pulsing throughout and flashes of faithfulness shooting round and round. I lost my breath in awe and my fears to wonderment. I looked into his eyes fixed on me. “Your hope is my treasured possession,” he sung in tune and time with the sounds emitting from his heart. “I will not disappoint you.”

Undone, I felt the vine surround me again. He tugged me, and I fell back into him. We watched. At the place where the branch met the vine, the vinedresser gently breathed. A word drove out from his mouth like a sword and severed the dead branch from the vine. He crumbled the branch into the palm of his hand until only ashes remained. The vine rejoiced, “Faithful are the wounds of a friend.” And rejoicing again, every leaf joined in and swayed carefree. More fascinated than before, I watched the vinedresser spit into the palmful of ashes and stir it with his finger until a salve was formed. The vine, still surrounding me, leaned over my shoulder and explained, “He wastes nothing.” With careful detail, the vinedresser placed the salve over the fresh cut. He left his hand in place until all the empty space was filled with the healing ointment. All at once I released a breath that I had been holding unaware. “Finally,” I exhaled. I stood in absoluteness, feeling the energy of the vine’s life flow freely within every branch of mine—within every branch of his.

The vinedresser lifted his hand and bent over the salve-soaked cut. As before, he gently breathed on it, releasing his very spirit. Stepping back he looked over my branches once more and then turned towards me. His countenance was wise. I wanted to look away, but a slight, mischievous even, smile on his lips kept me watching. Sitting down he put his arm around me. I studied him, still in awe of who he was, how he cared, and what I saw in his heart. I felt something genuine rising in my soul and taking flight – a “Thank you” released from my mouth. As he looked back at me, I noticed a glimmer in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. “Watch this,” he said pointing to place where the dead branch had been. From the vine a new bud began to come forth, shooting through the salve. It was tender and bright green and unfolding with promise. With certain joy, the vinedresser said, “I give beauty for ashes. I make all things new.”

A child-like wave of wonder washed over me, “What will it be?” With a Father-like tease, he told me, “Wait and see.” Sitting safely next to him, I couldn’t help but reflect on the day. From beginning to end the vinedresser’s actions were constant with care and delight, wisdom and compassion, gentleness and precision; the vine remained near with timely strength, ease and humility, always rejoicing. And with a content excitement, a hopeful trust that is, I exclaimed, “I can’t wait!” The vinedresser leaned in and kissed me on the cheek once again, “Neither can we.”

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I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit…Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit… John 15:1-5

adrienne scott 2019