Thursday, 19 June 2014

Her Rose

I stand amongst the littered tools, wet paint, and dust in our soon to be living room and stare out the window. The garden lining the side of the house is in full bloom with colours of green and yellow mingling through the small cut out space. Years of hard work, rhubarb, and life line the edges of the little garden.

Hard work, rhubarb, life...

And a single red rose.

My grandmother joins me as I take my moment of rest. She looks out into the early evening sky.

“Did you see my rose?” she asks.

I nod, lacking the understanding of the significance of the blooming flower.

“It begins to bloom each year right around this time.”

I stand and listen as she tells the romance of this single rose.

Years ago, longer than she can remember, my grandfather planted a rose bush in that little garden. Over time and seasons, the roses have dwindled away, all failing to find life...

All but one.

My grandfather passed away over 19 years ago, yet the rose bush he planted somehow seems to continue to bring my grandmother a beautiful red rose each year, just in time for June 27, their anniversary.

Tears well in my eyes as I hear the story and see the seemingly magical flower find life when all traces of it should be long gone. The romance of the single rose tugs at my heart and the hopeless romantic in me is reminded of God’s grace to care for each one of us, even in the simplest of needs, like a flower for a beyond deserving woman on her anniversary.

And so, the rose blooms. It brings life. It stands as a symbol of the lasting love that even surpasses death in the covenant of marriage. “My rose,” she says. And so it is.

I am thankful to be moving into this home – one surrounded by grace and love. One that holds many memories, stories, and laughter.

One that boasts the garden with the timeless rose.

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