I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He
cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does
bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.
—John 15:1-2
“Oh, no!” I gasped when I caught sight of my beloved
lilac bush covered with webs. “The webworms are taking over,” I groaned.
Already they had consumed my black walnut tree and another at the edge of the
pasture. Why did they have to choose my lilac to chew on next?
Lilacs are special to me, a sweet reminder of my loving
grandmother, who shared my childhood home. Her lilac bush graced the corner of
our screened back porch and bloomed just once a year, in April, her birth
month. I can still see the lavender-colored cuttings arranged in a Mason jar in
the center of the kitchen table. The fragrant aroma filled the room like the presence of Grandmama's gentle spirit.
Now the insects had draped their deadly cloaks over my lilac bush, covering it from top to
bottom, killing every green leaf and causing sadness to drape over me at the mere thought of
my lilac never returning.
Was
there anything I could do? The niggling thought plagued me each
time I rounded the corner of my house. Nah,
it’s hopeless, I returned.
