tannin.

 

“He dug it and cleared it of stones, and planted it with choice vines; he built a watchtower in the midst of it, and hewed out a wine vat in it; and he looked for it to yield grapes…”

Isaiah 5:2

“Our identity rests in God's relentless tenderness for us revealed in Jesus Christ.”

-Brennan Manning-

Stone by stone, he removes each one.  With a gentleness that is only in the hands that fluffed the clouds in the sky, he plants each vine.  He builds a tower and sets up shop.  He is so near, always watching.  Waiting.  Not for the grapes to fail.  But for the vines to yield.  He carves a wine vat in preparation for the harvest.  He carves a wine vat full of hope in the vines he planted and the soil he tended.

And what if it is the only thing that matters.  That he isn’t waiting for me to fail.  That he, with a fierce tenderness, has created the perfect space for me to find me to find joy and depth and hope.  The perfect space to become his righteousness.  To grow, not to fail.

What if he is rooting for me.  What if when no one else shows up, he is there.  He made a watchtower.  He is near.  What if in my searches for a sea of compliments and back-pats, his is the only one that matters.  And the only one that is constant.  He carved a vat, fully prepared for a celebration of who he made me to be.

What if the single greatest event in human history really was enough.  What if the death of an innocent one created a holy collision that could harvest all of my wild grapes and turn them into a perfect wine.  Full bodied, with depth of flavor and rich in tannin to remind me that in my wildness, he has been tender.

What if that tenderness is all that matters.