Wineskin Metaphors by Kristine Amundrud

In the wrestling and the 

grappling for a good life, 

take stock. Have you given up 

on the best life, in exchange for 

fear?

A slave digs heels into miry ground, 

where the old life withstands a burial

What the wineskin taught me–

a call to first, let it die

For one drawn-out moment, marinate in 

the mystery, in the presence unveiled

Stains lift as light enters into

baptismal grace. Let it soak

In the wake of drowning, obey the 

scraping of Eden’s curse 

For the one laboring in prayer–

He is able to do far more richly than all 

you could ever imagine or contrive

Watch stubborn scraps of flesh 

grapple as they kiss fresh skin adieu– 

falling feeble into leaf piles. Let it rot

Fresh presence wanders 

nomadic, on the horizon–

an awakening to the spirit

Receive as you would a late 

autumn bouquet. Let it enamour

Lay every ounce of life down 

to be cut by the Master, who 

with loving shears, uniquely shapes 

a skin to match giftings and purpose

Sewn three times, then 

the formidable task of turning 

inside out. Feel the softness of humility,

goatskin leather vulnerability

Sealed with tar–

God’s hedge of protection

Let it preserve what’s being filled

New wine of gladness! Let it brim

for all to drink in