The Trellis and the Vine

In California's Napa Valley, vintners know that a grapevine left to itself will sprawl across the ground. The branches tangle. The fruit touches the soil, invites rot, and never fully ripens. The vine is alive — it simply has no direction.

That is why every serious vineyard uses a trellis. The wooden frame does not force the vine to grow. It does not threaten or punish. It simply provides structure — a steady, upward pull toward the sunlight. Season after season, the vine wraps itself around those crossbars, and what was once a sprawling mess becomes an ordered canopy producing clusters of extraordinary fruit.

Paul tells Titus that the grace of God has appeared, and that this grace "teaches us to say no to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age." Notice the word he chooses: teaches. Grace is not merely a pardon slipped under the cell door. Grace is a trellis.

It lifts us off the ground where we would otherwise tangle and rot. It gives us something firm to cling to when the wind blows. It trains our growth — not through coercion, but through patient, daily support. And over time, what the Almighty produces in a grace-trained life is fruit that could never have grown on the ground.

The trellis does not replace the vine's life. It directs it upward.