O who can compare to my Vinedresser
Who with tender mercy and compassion
Created and chose me to be planted in His vineyard?
He sees and knows what I cannot,
Of what I need to flourish
Amidst the assault of shifting and tempestuous climes.
His touch, His Word, His abundant provision
Provide the succor essential to bearing fruit.
His loving hand observes and moves
To prune that which hinders growth
That which in my weakness and blindness I might cling to.
But my gaze upon this skillful, holy Surgeon
Frees me to yield to the precision of His scalpel.
Then, I wonder to find that a fuller, purer surge of life
Flows within my being
Producing an abundance for His glory
And my heart sings with joy.
(written during Ignatian Retreat in Daily Life, from John 15)