6 May, Wednesday — We’re neither rosemary nor basil plants

Wednesday of the 5^th Week of Eastertide

Acts 15:1-6
Jn 15:1-8

“I am the vine, you are the branches.”

Have you ever seen a branch living on its own after falling from the vine?

Perhaps some plants come to mind, like basil, rosemary, or mint. Such plants can grow from cuttings and survive independently.

It’s very easy, in the same way, for many of us to try to live like that when we face difficulties. We may rely only on ourselves to push through with effort, planning, or sheer willpower, when even the body feels exhausted.

But I am not a rosemary plant, even though my confirmation name is Mary.

For some time, I have been looking for support and coping strategies for my mental and emotional well-being. I have used ChatGPT as my ‘AI counsellor’, tried different techniques I found online, and I even tried to talk to my turtles! But my turtles were way more interested in food and Netflix than my inner world. Despite all these efforts, my emotional well-being still felt uneven.

This month, I finally met a psychologist who has been teaching me helpful coping strategies. During the session, she taught me an exercise called ‘Visualisation’, where I was guided through calming imagery of a forest, accompanied by soft background music and spoken prompts. Strangely, it felt really familiar. It reminded me of prayer practices like those on the Pray As You Go app, where guided reflection helps one enter into a deeper awareness of God’s presence. It also made me think of the essence of Ignatian spirituality, where imagination, memory, and feelings should not be treated as distractions from prayer, but become pathways of encountering God more personally. In that sense, this form of prayer feels very natural, because it meets us exactly where we are, in the way we think, feel, and process life.

It struck me then that help often does not always arrive like a timetable, unlike the neatly timed ‘2-minute intervals’ of MRT trains during peak hours. But when help does come, it’s God’s grace arriving. Quietly. Steady. Without announcement…yet perfectly timed in God’s way.

Jesus said, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” Words so simple, yet they carry the weight of an entire way of living.

Perhaps this is what it means to remain.

But what does it mean to remain? At times, it may be as simple as slowing down our ‘kancheong’ (meaning ‘hurried’) pace of life, sitting in an adoration room, and resting in the presence of Christ. “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Ps 46:10)

At other times, it can be an interior posture. Perhaps, by learning to stay close to Jesus, even when life is full. To return, even when distracted. To receive His love and mercy, even when self-sufficiency feels easier.

Then, there are also quieter lessons of pruning. My expectations, patterns, and even the quiet belief that I am enough on my own. Pruning is not gentle in feeling, but perhaps it is gentle in intention.

And so, I find myself slowly learning this: that we cannot force fruitfulness into being. Where life is received, fruits begin to grow. Tenderly, in God’s time.

Like a branch, I only have to stay. I do not have to create the vine’s life.

And in remaining through prayer, through the help received from others, and through the slow building of my trust in Jesus, I hope to learn, little by little, that I am not as alone as I sometimes feel. What sustains me is not my effort, but the life of our Risen Christ, who is the true vine.

Alleluia!

(Today’s OXYGEN by Brenda Khoo)

Prayer: Dear Jesus, when I am tempted to rely only on my own strength, gently remind me that I am not meant to grow apart from You. Teach me what it means to remain in You, especially in moments of fear, anger, or uncertainty. Help me to trust in You, that even when I feel like I am struggling to hold things together, Your life continues to flow quietly into mine. Draw me back to You with Your infinite patience and love. Amen.

Thanksgiving: Thank You, Lord, for the ways You have provided help and support in my life, even when I did not expect it. Thank You for placing people, guidance, and moments of care along my journey, reminding me that I do not walk alone. Thank You for teaching me, slowly and gently, that fruitfulness does not come from striving, but from abiding in You. Thank You for always remaining faithful to me, even when I struggle to remain in You. Amen.