This might sound bizarre, but I learned my first lesson in letting go from a cantankerous rattan vine.
It was many years ago, and my family and I were chipping away at the never-ending task of maintaining the forest land behind our creek. On this particular day, we were using the tractor to collect the downed limbs, fallen trees, and dried brush, transporting it all to be submerged in the bonfire we’d built. In the course of our work, we stumbled upon one of the most dreaded denizens of our property—a rattan vine.
These vines, an invasive species, have a tough, woody stem, a sinuous design, and a stubbornness unmatched by any other plant. They tend to entwine themselves parasitically around trees, climbing dozens of feet up the trunk and branches and ultimately choking the life out of their host.
We knew we couldn’t allow this one to remain, so after a few attempts, we were able to dislodge all of its nearly two dozen feet, which crashed to the ground like a rope of wood. But then a new problem arose—how could we transport it to the fire? It was thick—a couple of inches in diameter. It was inflexible—stiff and strong. And it was unwieldy—an awkward shape that made it nearly impossible to maneuver.
Finally we contrived what seemed like the perfect solution. We draped a section of the vine over the flatbed trailer attached to our tractor. My dad and I sat on the trailer, ready to grab the vine should it start to slip, and with my mom at the wheel, we took off. The rest of the vine had no choice but to drag along behind us, the end of it tracing squiggles in the dust.
At first, everything went as planned. But then, I saw the vine inching its way down the length of the trailer, right toward the end where I was sitting. We would later realize that the dragging tail had snagged on an obstruction and was pulling the entire vine off the trailer, but in the moment, all I felt was the determination to not let this problematic rattan get away. I grabbed for it and clung tenaciously as the tractor continued to progress, but after a few seconds of white-knuckled struggle, the vine slid off the trailer—sweeping me right along with it!
Now, the incident is a humorous exhibit in my mental gallery of family memories. I think back to that day, and a few details stand out—how the brief moment of falling was filled with more shock than fear, how the damp leaves smelled when I hit the ground, how my dad gently ribbed me about my hard-headedness, and how we cheered when the pesky vine was finally consigned to the flames. But along with these is a more serious thought—the realization of how many times since then I have repeated this story. And maybe you do too.
You see, I’ve learned not to grapple with a surly rattan vine—but I still cling to circumstances, to people, to opportunities, to regrets. The more they threaten to escape, the tighter my grip becomes. But if I’m not careful, those things to which I cling threaten to yank me right out of God’s will for my life.
We’ve all felt this, haven’t we? Maybe the distraction derails your purpose, but it seems harmless enough. Maybe the relationship goes against the grain of your spiritual growth, but we can’t imagine our life without it. Perhaps you feel drawn toward the release of reconciliation, but you’d rather hug the painful memories. Or maybe you feel God asking you to make the sacrifice, but how can you bear to let go?
But regardless of what form our “vines” take, they can be identified by a simple litmus test: are they pulling us forward or backward?
Are they drawing us closer to God, or are they pulling against the tide of the Spirit’s work in our lives? Are we able to easily hold onto them as we ride God’s will—or are they threatening to pull us right down into the dirt?
It’s sobering when we hold the components of our daily lives—attitudes, jobs, friends, entertainment choices, opinions—up to the light of this question. And our initial reaction may be the self-protective reflex of rationalization. Why does it matter, after all? Can’t we do as we like? It’s no big deal!
But friend, this is why it matters. You see, just as I learned with the vine, if we don’t get rid of these hindrances, they will get rid of us—ripping us right out of the story. But if we can open our hands and bow our knees and let those vines slide out of our lives, then we have room for greater blessings than we could ever imagine.
For an example, just consider the stories of people who responded in totally different ways. First check in Luke chapter 5. After enabling a miraculous catch of fish for Simon Peter, Jesus asks this simple fisherman and his friends to follow Him and become “fishers of men.” And they respond in this profound manner: “And when they had brought their boats to land, they left everything and followed him” (Luke 5:11 ESV). Mark’s gospel accentuates this account with a few more details: “And immediately he called them [James and John], and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired servants and followed him” (Mark 1:20 ESV). Did you notice that? These men dropped it all—the nets, the occupation, the coworkers, the family, even (apparently) the miraculous catch of fish. All that they held most dear was relinquished to follow One Who was worth more than it all.
But then look at another example. Here’s the same situation: Jesus is calling a potential disciple. It’s another fork in the road, another Y-shaped choice—but this time, the story takes a less triumphant turn.
“Jesus said to him, ‘…Go and sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.’ But when the young man heard this statement, he went away grieving; for he was one who owned much property” (Matthew 19:21-22 NASB).
When he heard the price, he went away. Isn’t that tragic? But the same choice faces us all. We can choose to cede the poisonous prizes we cherish, exchanging them for God’s gifts. Or we can make the massive mistake of this man. We can hear God’s command, weigh the consequences, and walk away—grieving, yes, but no less determined to hang onto our own “vines.”
Don’t make this choice lightly. And don’t parrot a Sunday-school answer without deeply considering your response. We can cling to our own desires—but we’ll end up sprawled on the ground. Or we can give it all up—to find the sacred surprise of God’s grace around every corner.
But how? With our gripping fists and clinging hearts, how can we ever let go? The answer is found in Hebrews 12: “Let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith” (v.1b-2a ESV). In these lines are the three steps toward wholeness.
First, we lay aside the “vines.” Did you notice that they’re actually described as “clinging so closely”? What an image! This verse reminds us that when the vine tries to slide off the trailer, we let it go. We actively rid our lives of anything pulling us back.
Secondly, we run with endurance. The word endurance puts us on notice that pain will be part of the equation. Stamina will be required, and patience will be demanded. We’ll feel the ache of separation from our “vines,” and we’ll long to rush back and pick them up once more. But day by day, we summon endurance and keep moving forward.
Thirdly, we look to Jesus. He is the replacement for our ragged riches, the hope that outweighs anything we could hold. When we fix our eyes on His glory, nothing we could desire can possibly compete. We gain infinitely more than we give up.
This, then, is the process to release our vines, to free our souls. But maybe you’re in a different circumstance today. Maybe your problem isn’t that you’re clinging to vines; maybe you feel that they’re clinging to you. Maybe you’re worried that you’ve fallen too far, that there’s no way you can ever get back in God’s will. The vine pulled you away long ago, and it’s too late now.
If that’s you, I understand. I’ve been there too. But let’s return to the story of my rattan vine for a moment—because the ending has a special meaning for me.
When I fell off the trailer, guess what happened next? The tractor stopped. My mom threw on the brake, and both my parents jumped down to pick me up, to help me get back on again.
Friend, God does the same for you.
If you fall, He won’t shrug and move forward without you. You won’t be left in the mud desperately staring after your story. And you haven’t missed your chance to ride on His wings again. Instead, the Lord longs to redeem and restore us. The same grace-filled God Who says, “Return to Me…and I will return to You” (Zechariah 1:3b ESV) stands with arms open wide—just waiting to help us rise and walk with Him once more.
I don’t know what shape your “vine” takes. I don’t know what you’re gripping today. But if you’re exhausted and weary and frightened and desperate, let me remind you that the greatest freedom is found in letting go. Release your “vines” into the hands of God, and allow Him to pull you back into the center of His will. Instead of maintaining our grip on things that drag us down, let’s resolve to follow the admonition of Paul and “cling to what is good” (Romans 12:9 NIV).
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