Innerdialects

_{Vinepress Prompt : ‘Choices’}

At Shiloh’s Gate, shadows slink down its latch. Inside, a small breeze stirs the under belly of vine leaf.

The Gardener looks at my scars. I look at the shut gate visible thru flower berries. He smiles, glad at the choice made.

Nearby brook runs like a Psalm. I enter His Verse and want to say so many things. I say,

“Abba, take this life, just as I am, now here.”

He wraps my bruise like a little wild Branch, to a Cut in the Vine. Its a flesh wound, from the Cross.

This is more than a Parable – This Vineyard,

Redemption’s Blood Vine seeping in me; unbelievable. Freedom is unbelievable. We are used to being sucked in by market demands, societal thirst, sugar coated cravings.

Daren’t open my eyes, am I so used to being a clone to all else? Why not see – know

the tang of Salt. Yeshu’s. I’d thought those were mine, the tears.

I see His Iris, the color of crushed grape. They’re the colors of thunder. Of Lightning on bone dry earth, someone nearby smashing Dragon fruit, a zillion dragons –

they slap the sour brew in a cup He drinks in my place. More images visit, at a Cross He takes, for me. Me, Earth.

“I am the Vine, you my Branch. My Father is the Gardener.”

The Gardener’s Hands are gentle, quick. I am grafted, am now a Yard full of Vine. A Harvest Waiting.Here a minute is a thousand. A day an hour, an hour is my entire lifetime, now wrapped in His side.

Me in Him. Like a Tree planted by Streams of Living water. How fantastic, free

rising again, with Him.

🍃🌷🍃

Handpicked for such a Time as this

Vineyard Shiloh