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The Gardener

By Connie Kennemer

The Gardener

My Father is a Gardener,
His Son is the True Vine.
I am grafted into Him
and all His power is mine.
Without Him I am nothing,
but He has promised me
If I abide within the Vine,
He will abide in me.

I had so many branches,
abloom with flowers fair;
I showed them to the Gardener,
and hoped that He would share
My joy, as I produced
so many lovely things for Him.
He looked at me with saddened eyes
and began to shake each limb.

He took a knife, so sharp, so clean,
and sheared off every flower.
I cried as He destroyed
the products of so many hours.
I watched my leaves fall to the ground,
along with all my tears.
I saw them now for what they were:
Wasted days and years.

And when the Gardener finished,
I looked with shame to see
That ugly branches, naked limbs
were all He left to me.
The winter winds blew fierce
on empty branches of my life;
For I had known the full extent
of the Gardener's knife.

 

I waited--seasons, days and years--
I do not know how long;
But one day I began to feel
faint birthings of a song;
For there, on lonely branches,
I gazed through tears to see
The fruit restored.
Yes, life had pushed
through all the death in me.

I felt the power of the Vine
flow sweetly through each limb;
And then I knew the fruit
would grow as I remained in Him.
My Father is a Gardener,
His Son is the True Vine.
I am grafted into Him
and all His power is mine.

Written by Connie Kennemer.
© 1991 Kenn-Owen Music.
Visit: www.songsthatpray.com

Reprinted from ...And He Will Give You Rest
monthly support newsletter, Volume 5, Issue 4.