Thursday, October 18, 2012

Galena Vines, Branches and Roots

Every September I go to Galena with eight of my girlfriends. We've been going for years and we do as we like during the day; we shop, walk, or sit around and talk religion and politics.

But we always gather in the late afternoon at the winery, even when it's cold, as it was this year. We sit outside in big wicker chairs, tasting the current year's wines, talking, and petting the big golden retriever who settles by us, knowing we're softies.

This picture is taken from the porch where we sit. On the other side of the tree in the front yard, there is a single row of vines. They mark the start of the winery, separating the vineyards from the cornfields beyond.

For one weekend every year, we sit behind that row of vines, sheltered. We stretch out toward each other, like those branches joining vine to vine. We send fragile tendrils into each other's lives, learning the bits we didn't know before, sympathizing, enjoying, dissecting and knowing. And with each bit of knowing, those tender shoots settle in, find their place and take root.

It strikes me that this is how God wants us, why He plants us as He does, and I am deeply grateful.

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