A reflection from the turning place

I used to think I needed to work harder.

More love.

More patience.

More kindness.

More self-control.

So I tried.

Especially when I saw the gap between who I was and who I was called to be.

I tried to close it with discipline. With effort. With resolve.

But the truth is—I can’t grow fruit.

Not the kind that lasts. Not the kind that feeds others and refreshes my own soul.

Because fruit doesn’t grow by force.

It grows by life.

And life—true life—only flows from Jesus.

He didn’t say, “Try harder.”

He said, “Abide in Me.”

Live in Me. Stay close. Draw everything from Me.

But even that—I forget.

I get busy. I get proud.

I try to carry the day in my own strength.

And then I wonder why love dries up.

Why joy feels fake.

Why patience evaporates the moment I’m stretched.

So this is my turning cry:

Jesus, I forgot. I turned inward again. I tried again to be strong without You.

But I’m coming back.

Not because I figured it out—

but because I’m thirsty again.

You are the vine.

I am the branch.

And the branch doesn’t grow fruit by trying—it grows by staying.

So here I am.

Let Your life flow again.

Let what was withered be renewed.

Let what was heavy be light again.

Let love return—not because I forced it,

but because You are near.

I don’t want to say “no” to sin just to feel righteous.

I want to say “yes” to You, until sin loses its appeal.

I want to gaze upon You until idols grow dim.

I want to stay so close that the fruit of the Spirit becomes the scent of my life.

Not because I’m good—

but because You are,

and You live in me.

So I’ll whisper it again:

I cannot grow the fruit.

But I can abide.

And I’m here, Lord—thirsty, tired, and turning toward You.