Undertaking a journey of faith yields
An experience which often varies.
To some, it’s running through strawberry fields
To me, it’s more like picking blackberries.

Bushes out of reach of earthly trimmers,
Where fruit lies tangled behind vine and root.
A drop of blood, pricked by a thorn, shimmers,
Blending with the skin of not-yet-ripe fruit.

But this I know: as the branches are pruned,
The fruit, brought to light and tasted, is sweet.
Those thorns, wound into a crown meant to wound,
And those rusty nails, piercing hands and feet,
Were placed by my own hand, in need of this,
And the blood was never mine – it was His.

 

Inspiration:
John Mark Pantana – Strawberry Fields
John 15:1-17