The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of the Lord; they flourish in the courts of our God. They still bear fruit in old age; they are full of sap and green, to declare that the Lord is upright. He is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in Him. (Verses 12-15)
"I am the vine and you are the branches. Whoever abides in Me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from Me, you can do nothing." John 15
I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. Philippians 4:13
I became angry with the guys who painted our wrought iron fences last year. We live in a townhouse in a gated community, so the common areas are maintained by the homeowner's association. I awoke one morning to find my patio strewn with various paint products, my water hose untangled and my plumeria raked up by its roots because the men had pulled the hose over it, dumping the contents of the clay pot randomly onto the patio tiles. Leaving it there overnight while the roots dried out. And this was no ordinary plant. A friend made a cutting nearly ten years ago, just for me. I'd babied the plant, moved it three times to three different homes, and it finally bloomed the year before. Plumeria aren't fast growing plants and the larger ones are expensive. Forgive me, but I stomped down the street in an effort to find the culprits. It was too early. I was too angry. So I went home. To the patio. Lovingly, I cradled the plant, trying to keep the loose soil from falling away from the tender roots and placed it into new soil in the old pot, watered and fed it, then went inside to complain to my husband about the impending death of my favorite plant. He purchased me another very small plumeria later that day. Mainly because he didn't want to scold the workers for me.
The interesting thing is, the plant went about its business of living. Stood straight up, forced out some leaves then bloomed like crazy last year. It's all happy even today as I look out at it from my dining room table where I'm typing this blog. It was a healthy plant when it hit the pavement with roots exposed to a long night out of its pot. It hadn't jumped out of the rich soil. Life jerked it out. But its sap had vigor. Adversity didn't kill it. In fact, the new soil may have actually invigorated my beautiful plumeria.
I'm supposed to be like that. Full of sap and green because I've been planted in the house of the Lord. Even at the ripe old age of sixty-four, I'm still supposed to be declaring the wonders of being a child of God. Like the plumeria though, I'm only vital when I'm in the soil of God's love. I can't live outside of the pot I've been planted in. I'm not made for my roots to be exposed to the harsh conditions of the world unattached to my source. I dry up out there. I don't have any fruit. Ultimately, if I don't get back into the clay pot, I die. But, oh man, connected to the Vine, I'm a little fruit-bearing, flower spurting plant because His sap flows through my tiny veins. I don't flex my spiritual muscles, shut my eyes and push so that in my own strength, with my own will, I strain out some random fruit. I bear fruit because that's what a branch connected to the vine does. My job is to stay in the pot. And, yes, the Vinedresser sometimes comes along carrying those shears in His hands, lops of a few dead limbs, prunes back everything that isn't producing. And, I've got to say, it hurts a little. But the next thing I know, I'm getting bigger and more fruitful. The hewing gave me a growth spurt. I have little shoots of green where there were only dead or dying branches. The Vinedresser loves this little plant. Takes really good care of it. Knows when its been knocked over. Attacks when the snails try to eat its leaves. Puts it in just the right place in the garden--not too much sun or shade. My Vinedresser wants optimal beauty from me.
So I'm not supposed to strive to make myself into some plant I fancy. I am supposed to be the fancy plant He potted and cares for. My hardiness, loveliness and fruitfulness are reflections of the sap of the Vine. I'm nothing but a dead branch without Him. But connected to the Source, I lift my petals with pride because I'm just where He wants me to bloom. When I think of all this, I bow my knees and pray to the Father, the creator of everything in heaven and earth. I pray that from His glorious unlimited resources He will empower you with inner strength through His Spirit. Then Christ will make His home in your hearts as you trust Him. Your roots will grow down into God's love and keep you strong. Ephesians 3:14-16. Italics, mine.
"I am the vine and you are the branches. Whoever abides in Me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from Me, you can do nothing." John 15
I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. Philippians 4:13
I became angry with the guys who painted our wrought iron fences last year. We live in a townhouse in a gated community, so the common areas are maintained by the homeowner's association. I awoke one morning to find my patio strewn with various paint products, my water hose untangled and my plumeria raked up by its roots because the men had pulled the hose over it, dumping the contents of the clay pot randomly onto the patio tiles. Leaving it there overnight while the roots dried out. And this was no ordinary plant. A friend made a cutting nearly ten years ago, just for me. I'd babied the plant, moved it three times to three different homes, and it finally bloomed the year before. Plumeria aren't fast growing plants and the larger ones are expensive. Forgive me, but I stomped down the street in an effort to find the culprits. It was too early. I was too angry. So I went home. To the patio. Lovingly, I cradled the plant, trying to keep the loose soil from falling away from the tender roots and placed it into new soil in the old pot, watered and fed it, then went inside to complain to my husband about the impending death of my favorite plant. He purchased me another very small plumeria later that day. Mainly because he didn't want to scold the workers for me.
The interesting thing is, the plant went about its business of living. Stood straight up, forced out some leaves then bloomed like crazy last year. It's all happy even today as I look out at it from my dining room table where I'm typing this blog. It was a healthy plant when it hit the pavement with roots exposed to a long night out of its pot. It hadn't jumped out of the rich soil. Life jerked it out. But its sap had vigor. Adversity didn't kill it. In fact, the new soil may have actually invigorated my beautiful plumeria.
I'm supposed to be like that. Full of sap and green because I've been planted in the house of the Lord. Even at the ripe old age of sixty-four, I'm still supposed to be declaring the wonders of being a child of God. Like the plumeria though, I'm only vital when I'm in the soil of God's love. I can't live outside of the pot I've been planted in. I'm not made for my roots to be exposed to the harsh conditions of the world unattached to my source. I dry up out there. I don't have any fruit. Ultimately, if I don't get back into the clay pot, I die. But, oh man, connected to the Vine, I'm a little fruit-bearing, flower spurting plant because His sap flows through my tiny veins. I don't flex my spiritual muscles, shut my eyes and push so that in my own strength, with my own will, I strain out some random fruit. I bear fruit because that's what a branch connected to the vine does. My job is to stay in the pot. And, yes, the Vinedresser sometimes comes along carrying those shears in His hands, lops of a few dead limbs, prunes back everything that isn't producing. And, I've got to say, it hurts a little. But the next thing I know, I'm getting bigger and more fruitful. The hewing gave me a growth spurt. I have little shoots of green where there were only dead or dying branches. The Vinedresser loves this little plant. Takes really good care of it. Knows when its been knocked over. Attacks when the snails try to eat its leaves. Puts it in just the right place in the garden--not too much sun or shade. My Vinedresser wants optimal beauty from me.
So I'm not supposed to strive to make myself into some plant I fancy. I am supposed to be the fancy plant He potted and cares for. My hardiness, loveliness and fruitfulness are reflections of the sap of the Vine. I'm nothing but a dead branch without Him. But connected to the Source, I lift my petals with pride because I'm just where He wants me to bloom. When I think of all this, I bow my knees and pray to the Father, the creator of everything in heaven and earth. I pray that from His glorious unlimited resources He will empower you with inner strength through His Spirit. Then Christ will make His home in your hearts as you trust Him. Your roots will grow down into God's love and keep you strong. Ephesians 3:14-16. Italics, mine.
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