When I Looked Closer…

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit…”

— John 15:5

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…”

— Romans 12:2

A few days ago, I was out walking — nothing deep, just some simple exercise. Clearing my head. Letting the quiet do what the quiet does.

And then I saw it.

A tree. Solid. Established. Exactly what you’d expect to see on a normal walk through a normal day.

But something made me slow down.

There was a branch that didn’t look right. The leaves were different — thicker, shinier, the kind of green that didn’t match the rest. Like they belonged to a completely different tree. And I stood there thinking:

How is there another kind of tree… growing on this tree?

I didn’t keep walking. I moved closer. I stood there. I studied it — because what I was seeing genuinely didn’t make sense.

And the longer I looked, the clearer it became: this wasn’t two trees growing together. Something had attached itself.

It looked like it belonged. It grew like it belonged. But it didn’t originate there.

I kept walking. A different direction. A different part of the area.

And then I saw it again.

Another tree. Same kind of growth. Same quiet takeover. And I realized — this wasn’t random.

It was a pattern.

What looked like part of the tree… was actually something living off of the tree.

Drawing from it. Growing because of it. Blending so completely with it that you’d almost miss it — unless you stopped. Unless you looked closer.

And as I’ve been sitting with that image, one question keeps pressing in on me:

What in my life looks like it belongs… but is actually just attached?

If I’m being real with you — and with myself — there are things in my life that have been around so long, they feel normal. Familiar. Harmless, even.

They don’t look disruptive. They don’t announce themselves. They’ve just… blended in.

But when I slow down and really pay attention?

Some things aren’t producing anything.

They’re just quietly pulling.

Pulling on my attention.

Pulling on my energy.

Pulling on my focus.

Pulling on the very clarity I need to move.

And here’s what’s sobering: not everything that grows around you was planted for you.

Think about the woman who spent years building what God actually showed her to build. The framework, the content, the courses — all of it rooted in real revelation. But somewhere in the middle of the building, she started saying yes to things that looked like the work. A speaking request. A collaboration. Someone who needed mentoring. Nothing wrong. All of it looked like ministry.

But when she sat down to build what God actually assigned her — the time was gone. The bandwidth was gone. The creative energy had already been spent on everyone else’s vision.

She couldn’t call it sin. Every yes looked like obedience.

It just wasn’t her vine.

“If you remain in me… you will bear much fruit.”

Which means my life source is already defined. My connection is already established. And fruit — real, lasting, God-ordained fruit — flows from that connection.

So when something else starts drawing from me — my time, my obedience, my mental space, my peace — it competes with the very vine that produces life in me.

And sometimes it isn’t obvious. It can look like:

·     Saying yes out of habit instead of out of obedience

·     Replaying thoughts God has already told you to release

·     Staying connected to environments that don’t sharpen you — they just occupy you

·     Carrying assignments that were never yours to carry

·     Performing for an audience that God never asked you to impress

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… quiet. Steady. And draining.

Or think about the woman who said yes to a friendship years ago — and it was a good yes at the time. But somewhere along the way, the dynamic shifted. Now every conversation is her listening, her encouraging, her pouring. And she hasn’t noticed how quiet she’s gotten about her own calling because there’s never really room for it.

She doesn’t call the friendship draining — because she loves this person. It doesn’t look like a problem. It just looks like loyalty.

But her vision has stalled. Her prayers feel thin. Her capacity to hear God feels crowded. And she can’t figure out why — because nothing looks wrong.

That’s what an attachment does. It doesn’t destroy the tree. It just quietly takes from it.

When I saw that tree, my first instinct was to ask what I was looking at. But that wasn’t the question that mattered.

The better question was:

Where did this come from — and what is it taking?

And I’m learning that’s the more honest question for my own life too.

“Is this wrong?”

But the better question: “Is this drawing life from me… or is it adding to what God is building in me?”

Those are two very different questions. And only one of them leads to clarity.

Take a few minutes with these — not to perform answers, but to actually sit with them.

1.  Pause and Look Closer

Where in your life have you been moving too fast to really pay attention?

What would you notice if you actually stopped and looked?

2.  Name the Quiet Drain

Not the loud, obvious things — the subtle ones.

Where do you consistently feel pulled, depleted, or scattered after engaging?

3.  Identify the Attachment

Is it a thought pattern? A habit? A commitment? A connection?

How long has it been attached — and when did it start feeling normal?

4.  Decide What Needs to Shift

You don’t have to tear everything up. But you do have to be honest.

What does limiting or removing access actually look like here?

5.  Return to the Source

What intentional practices help you stay rooted — really rooted — in God?

What needs to be protected so that what He’s growing in you has room to grow?

Father,

Thank You for opening my eyes — not just to what I see at a glance, but to what I’ve been walking past without really looking.

Search me. Show me anything in my life that looks like it belongs but was never planted by You. The habits. The thoughts. The commitments. The connections. Whatever has attached itself and started drawing from the life You’ve placed in me.

Give me eyes to see it clearly, and the courage to respond — not out of fear, but out of faithfulness.

Keep me rooted in You. So that what grows in my life is only what You’ve placed there.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

That tree is still standing. Still growing. Still full of life.

But something attached itself — and started quietly drawing from what wasn’t its own.

And I’m sitting with this truth: I can still be growing… and still be carrying something that doesn’t belong.

I can still be producing… and still have something feeding off of what God is trying to build.

I can still look fine from a distance… and still need to stop. Look closer. And ask the harder question.

So today — I’m not just walking past it.

I’m choosing to look closer.

Tereciah