by Pam Amlung
ROOTED AND LIFTED
(after John 15)
From the well-rooted grape trunk I emerged,
sprouting, growing, stretching to the sky,
reaching with tendrils,
tentatively, then tenaciously
clinging, expanding ever higher,
new curls of green unfurling slowly
into fan-like sails, soaking up sun
while roots press down deep, drinking up rain
until it no longer came,
and I languished, drooping, faltering,
winds howling, my flower buds drying.
Now I lie down, cowering on crusted earth
that choke my roots, crushing my dreams
of fruitfulness.
A collective sigh arises among the vines—
The Gardener’s coming.
I press lower still, into the silt.
Perhaps he’ll pass by, unaware of my barrenness,
as he searches for fruit
I have failed to produce.
I imagine the knife, the slicing, the fire that surely awaits—
a funeral pyre for me and my neighbors—the other bare vines.
But instead, I hear singing.
Instead, I feel fingers, not pinching
but delicately dusting
and lifting,
lifting me gently away from the dirt
while water drops wash my silt-coated leaves.
Finally, I can breathe!
As he waters our roots,
we drink deeply again, so very thirsty.
Then he gently entwines me, attaching me carefully
to hardier, storm-weathered vines.
Still wilted and weak, I whisper my thanks
to the Gardener, so gracious to grant me this place of honor,
restoring my hope, reviving my life—
a chance to survive
or perhaps even thrive,
perhaps even flower and grape!
I cling to this hope as I reach toward the clouds,
slowly extending, expanding skyward again,
leaves uncurling like paper-thin sails
stretching toward sunlight.
Roots pressing in deep, drinking again,
I’m dreaming of buds blossoming,
flowers blooming,
bees buzzing,
grapes emerging,
goodness filling,
imagining the grandeur of Gardener’s song
while he reaps a harvest sublime,
perhaps to be pressed into finest wine—
finer than that of other well-rooted vines
who’d not languished,
not shuddered against wind,
not huddled on parched land,
not waited to be gathered,
and tended, and washed,
and then lifted
by Gardener’s all-gracious hands.
PAM AMLUNG
Pam Amlung loves to create stories, poems, and songs from a deep place of abiding in Jesus, Father, and Holy Spirit. She lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, with her husband, Tom, five grown daughters, a growing number of grandchildren, her cuddly dog Oakley, and a sweet community of family and friends. Some of her favorite topics are mothering, international adoption, homeschooling, healing prayer, butterflies, beaches, and treasuring beauty. She published her first picture book, Come See What I See! in 2024, with the hopes of many more to come.