By Kadeen Edwards

“And Mary said: “My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed,”‭‭ Luke‬ ‭1‬:‭46‬-‭48‬ ‭

Mary praised the Lord, even when she couldn’t see what the future would look like. She worshiped the Lord amid the chaos that surrounded her. Her betrothed Joseph was considering separating from her because she was pregnant. She was young and pregnant, and I’m sure many judged her. 

Yet Mary worshiped the Lord. Like Mary in those circumstances, we are called to respond with praise. It’s easy to worship when he blesses us with good things and things that we want, but there are some blessings that come from things we don’t want. The truth is God uses the good and bad. Hard times will shape us. It says in Romans 5:3 that  we  glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.

 It’s hard to see the blessings in the trials while they’re happening; however, we can hold onto the fact that God is good, and something good will come from it. So even though we can’t see the goodness, we can praise him for his goodness and rejoice in knowing that all things work together for the good of those who love God and they’re called according to his purpose.

God came into this world in the most unexpected way. His ministry was one that was not expected by those who knew the Torah. They expected for him to come into the world with a great and grandeur entry. Instead he showed up helpless and vulnerable. Not in a great household or kingdom but in a dirty dinghy place where animals were kept. He showed up not to the high priest or Pharisees or Sadducees but to the unlikely the last the least, the lost and the lowest. 

Seek God in unlikely places.

By Dale Cawthon
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser” John 15:1
This context of John 15 follows the Last Supper, in private preparation of what was to come – so they would not desert and stop believing. We can only imagine the possible discourse Jesus had with his disciples walking past the Herodian temple from the upper room to the Mount of Olives with its display of the vine as the Judaic golden national emblem. Around the end of the first century, John wrote his gospel to uniquely present Jesus, as God, His Father, and the Spirit. John’s gospel offers an apology for second and third generation believers in the formation of Christian theology facing both on-going Judaic tensions and competing Greek epistemological frameworks. The growing community of believers would be strengthened in remembering the true source of life is found in the continued progress in believing and remaining in Jesus Christ.

In a vineyard, there are two kinds of branches on the same vine.

Some were always there—grown from it, shaped by it, carrying its life from the beginning.
Others were brought in—cut from elsewhere, foreign to the root, grafted into a life they did not come from.
If you walk in the rows, you may not notice the difference. Both are attached. Both draw from the same source. Both can bear fruit. But their stories are not the same.
And yet, their future depends on the same thing.
Jesus says, “I am the true vine” (John 15:1).
Not just a source of life, but the standard of it. Everything that grows in Him—whether original or grafted—derives its identity, nourishment, and fruit from that single reality.
The vine defines the branch.
Not the other way around.
For the original branch, abiding is natural—but not effortless.
It has always known this connection. But familiarity can dull dependence. What has always been available can begin to feel assumed. And assumption is a quiet threat…quiet contempt.
Because abiding is not sustained by history, but by continuing reliance.
For the grafted branch, abiding is everything. There is no history to lean on—only a decisive act of the vinedresser, placing what did not belong into what alone gives life.
The graft does not become part by effort, but by remaining where it has been joined.
Here is the word to both branches:
“Abide in Me” (John 15:4).
Abiding is not a feeling or a moment of clarity. It is a sustained posture of staying—refusing to disconnect from the source of life, even when other options feel more immediate or controllable.
The pressure to withdraw is real.
For the original branch, it is subtle:
to rely on what has always worked,
to draw from memory instead of present dependence,
to assume connection rather than maintain it.
For the grafted branch, it is sharper:
to return to old identities,
to reach for former sources,
to pull back from what still feels foreign.
Different pressures. Same threat: self-preservation.
But in the vineyard, self-preservation leads to separation.
Because life is not in the branch.
It is in the vine.
Jesus says, “My Father is the vinedresser” (John 15:1).
The connection is not random or self-determined.
The vinedresser governs where the branch is placed, how it is sustained, and what is cut away.
He prunes.
Not to harm, but to deepen participation in the life of the vine.
This is where abiding becomes costly.
Pruning feels like loss. It exposes where you have relied on something other than the vine—your own understanding, control, or strength.
And when those are cut, the instinct is immediate: withdraw.
But withdrawal breaks the very connection that gives life.
Remaining—though it feels like vulnerability—is the only place fruit can form.
“Whoever abides in me… bears much fruit; for apart from Me you can do nothing.” (John 15:5).
Not surface change, but transformation.
The branch does not strive to produce fruit.
It yields to the life already flowing into it.
Over time, something shifts.
The original branch deepens in dependence.
The grafted branch loses its sense of foreignness.


And the fruit begins to appear.
Not because the branch mastered the process--
but because it remained.

So, the question is this:
Whether you were always there or brought in later.

Are you remaining?
When pressure builds—are you staying?
When pruning cuts—are you trusting?
When the instinct to withdraw rises—are you resisting it?
Because everything in you moves toward self-preservation.
But life in the vineyard is not preserved that way.
It is received.
Sustained.
And expressed—only through connection.
Remain.
Because there is no other source of life
Readings: Psalm 80: 8-19; Isaiah 5:1-7; John 15:1-11; Galatians 5:1-26 (v.22); Romans 11:1-12:1.