Autumn again; the last rose petals fell yesterday. Roses are so incredibly beautiful. They fill my garden with love and tranquility. My grandparents grew the most glorious roses in their city lot. Each rose had its own scent, its own shape, its own unique hue and personality. I spent many hours as a child, sitting on a flat stone, just watching those sweet, hybrid roses unfold. Grandma would come off the screen porch with the big metal watering can, and show me how to give them a daily drink. "Not too much. They have to have just the right amount if you want to see the perfect blooms.."
It was Grandma's rose garden, but Gramps tended it. It was his gift to his wife for almost fifty years. "Mulch is the secret to everything" he'd say. "You can't have flowers without compost." He crumbled up eggshells for those roses, he sprinkled spent coffee grounds. Even banana peels could never be thrown away in their home, because Gramps carefully chopped them up to nourish his wife's roses.
They were a lot of work.
And let's be honest: Most of the year, roses are just sticks with thorns. They're ugly. They scratch. They have beetles. You have to nurture, feed, weed, mulch, prune, water, de-bug. Much work for a few flowers. That's 90% Yuck for 10% Wonderful. Really? How can that be worth it?
I imagine that is just what God thinks of us. Each thorn, each dry stick... Is there really any hope here? Any potential? Does God keeps sending me this rotting compost for a reason?
The answer is Yes! Hope is in the thorns, Baby. Because all that work for the roses is worth it.
And you and I are worth it to God. Keep accepting that mulch, and all that pruning.
For you are a rose in his garden, and you are beautiful.
It was Grandma's rose garden, but Gramps tended it. It was his gift to his wife for almost fifty years. "Mulch is the secret to everything" he'd say. "You can't have flowers without compost." He crumbled up eggshells for those roses, he sprinkled spent coffee grounds. Even banana peels could never be thrown away in their home, because Gramps carefully chopped them up to nourish his wife's roses.
They were a lot of work.
And let's be honest: Most of the year, roses are just sticks with thorns. They're ugly. They scratch. They have beetles. You have to nurture, feed, weed, mulch, prune, water, de-bug. Much work for a few flowers. That's 90% Yuck for 10% Wonderful. Really? How can that be worth it?
I imagine that is just what God thinks of us. Each thorn, each dry stick... Is there really any hope here? Any potential? Does God keeps sending me this rotting compost for a reason?
The answer is Yes! Hope is in the thorns, Baby. Because all that work for the roses is worth it.
And you and I are worth it to God. Keep accepting that mulch, and all that pruning.
For you are a rose in his garden, and you are beautiful.
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