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Pruning
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By Peter O
Other Poems by Peter O


Pruning
"I am the true vine, and my Father the vine grower,
...You are the branches." John 15:1,5

As a branch
Feeds from the sap of the vine,
So the soul
Feeds from the sap of Christ's grace;
Without sap, the branches die,
So the soul.

As the vine
Calls for pruning,
So the soul;
Without pruning,
There is much foliage, but little fruit;
So the soul.

Who prunes?

You, Father,
With the pruning blade of Your Will: You
The soul's Tiller,
The soul's Husbandman.

Why prune?

Because
The swell of life
Demands, insists on
The shrink of death;

What is pruned?

All growth's enemies,
The lifeless,
The sap silent.

Like
Seeing oneself as THE compass,
So that all leads to the pole-tower of self;

Like
Feeding off the control of others,
Using others, power over others;

Like
Being sad of heart
Following the felon winds
Of sickness and loss.

Father,

All these are death's puppets,
They close life, decay;
May I surrender, let my grip go
On these dead branches.

Yes,
You prune, and
I surrender the pulseless,
So the grace of Christ's flows
Through my soul
Like the sap of the vine to the branch.
As the branch, so the soul


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Submitted: Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Last Updated: Friday, February 26, 2016

About the Poet
I am 79 years of age. For the past nine years I have been retired, after forty years, from the field of alcoholism and drug abuse in New York City. I am married and we have two grown sons and two grand-sons. My life changed through a grace-experience in 1967. Writing Christian prayers is a particular interest of mine. This came about by a growing awareness of the spiritual in recovery from addictions. I choose, intellectually and emotionally, to believe the Triune God of the Sared Scriptures as my Healer.


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