The Last Leaf
“Do grapes grow on trees?” my young grandson asked, picking out a huge bunch from the container on the kitchen counter. “They’re so heavy!”
“No,” I chuckled, “they grow on vines.”
“Like the ones Tarzan swings on? How could he even hold on with all those grapes all over?” He held the bunch in front of him, a puzzled look on his face.
“Different kind of vines. Grape vines wrap around supports and are made to grow sideways; like on a fence.” I could tell he was still imagining Tarzan and Cheetah swinging through the jungle covered in grapes. “Come on outside,” I motioned for him to follow me out to our front porch where two kiwi vines were rapidly ascending opposite deck posts.
On one, thick, fuzzy branches sent tendrils 6 feet up into the air, unfurling leaves that would eventually be as big as dinnerplates. When they got too high and heavy, they would drop over the top railing and creep to meet the other vine approaching from the other side. “See these vines?” I pointed to where they twisted and wound themselves unaided around, up and over the porch supports. “Granpa and I have to make sure they grow where we want them to and have to tie them up if they go crazy.”
“Why?” he asked. “I like how they go everywhere, like they have suction cups on them.” He drew his hand alone one of the main branches and fingered the soft green leaves.
“If we didn’t, the vines would grow so wild that we couldn’t even get up onto the deck!” I poked one that was tickling the top of my head. “And the Amazon guy couldn’t deliver your Legos! That would be a tragedy, right?”
He laughed and jumped up trying to grab the offending vine that was bothering me. “Do these get grapes?”
“No, they get those fuzzy fruits you and your sister like. Kiwis. But it will take a long time for these guys to produce fruit. We planted the year after we moved here. 4 years ago. I forget how long it takes, but they won’t get ANY fruit if we don’t take care of them.”
He forgot about grapes and kiwis and ran off to help his grandpa work on our RV.
I walked back into the house, still thinking about vines and fruit. Our pastor had used that illustration in a message a few weeks back; how Jesus had taken His disciples from the Upper Room to the Garden of Gethsemane the night he was arrested and taken away. I hadn’t thought before about why He chose that particular time to talk to them about gardening. Seemed pretty random.
But our pastor explained that on the way to the garden, they would have passed right through vineyards. Jesus never let a good analogy go to waste! What a perfect time to use grapes and vineyards to illustrate how they were to remain faithful when He wasn’t with them anymore. He told them how God His Father was the gardener, He, Jesus, the vine, and they were the branches that would bear fruit if they remained connected to Him and through Him, to God. He had told them so many things that night their heads must have been spinning. But later they would recall His words and use them to nourish so many hungry souls.
The bunch of grapes still sat on the counter where they had been left. I picked it up and felt the weight in my hand, considering the process that brought it up from the soil resulting in the delicious orbs I plucked and savored.
I didn’t grow grapes, but I attended those two kiwi plants on my front porch. I watched them grow from spindly little sprouts that hardly showed any indication of their future growth that first year we planted them. They are different varieties planted on opposite sides of the porch. One is delicate, with heart-shaped, grass green leaves on pale pink branches. The other is the monster my grandson held in his hand with fuzzy purple branches some an inch thick with dark green leaves that engulf the posts and cover the overhead supports. The two meet in the middle to combine into a variegated tangle of green, pink, and plum purple.
My thoughts returned to Jesus on that last night He would spend with His best friends, those he “loved to the end” (John 3:1).
He knew not only what He was facing, but also all they would experience for the rest of their lives, when He wasn’t with them anymore. So He spent some of those last precious moments showing them HOW to stay connected to Him, as close as a branch clings to its vine for support, for its nourishment. They may not have understood it then, but they did understand how important it was to care for what fed them; whether that be to mend the nets that would catch the fish, to shepherd the flocks that would feed and clothe them, or to tend to the grapes that would produce the wine they would drink at times of celebration and remembrance.
Later that evening, I sat back on the porch, admiring the abundant growth of the vines. They would flourish throughout the summer. But then, when the days grew shorter and the nights cooler, their leaves would curl and shift from green to gold to brown and drift away. The branches too would drop until only the sturdy foundation vines would show, skeletal against the deck posts.
At that time last year, we had lost several good friends and one beloved family member.
The sadness made the season seem all the more somber; winter had come too early. I would close the blinds on either side of the front door and turn on the porch lights a little earlier every evening. One night, I turned on the lights before closing the blinds and looked out at the empty vines. Empty: except for one last leaf tenaciously gripping the branch under the porch light, translucent and glowing, the veins that had once coursed through with life etched in silver. I smiled at the bravery of that last leaf that was still holding onto its source of life and prayed that I too would stay connected to my vine, my life in Jesus.
John 5: 1-9