As the last of the leaves fall, fluttering down to the cold, damp earth, I notice a rose bush standing alone amidst a pool of color at her feet. Leggy, she reaches toward the sun, holding on to the hope that the cold will not soon come—that the breezy days of summer will somehow stretch just a little longer. I shiver under the layers of clothing I have donned to keep the grasp of cold from reaching deep down into my bones.
A tear of joy and a twinge of sadness blanket my face when I see my elderly neighbor bundled up like a snowman, pruning shears in hand. She is clipping the last of dying flowers and roses from her garden and hands me a beautiful bouquet. “Julia Child roses for you, Mary. She still has some left in her… look at the glorious blooms. She doesn’t want to give up.“
Day after day during the long months of winter, I see her sitting in the sunny window of her Victorian home. As day fades into night I see a single light. She is alone, looking out the window. In the crisp, cold air I dig furiously to plant dozens of white tulips facing her window so she will have something beautiful to see in the spring. During the long winter months of darkness, she will have something for which to hope. She says she dreams of her garden to get her through the long months of solitude. She tells me, “Each autumn I say to myself, “my garden is going to be the best ever this spring.” In addition, I believe her. Gardeners plant hope. With our hands we dig the earth. We plant a seed in the ground, and we bury it in hope. After long months of waiting, we believe a beautiful flower will emerge. New life, and joy.
“Come, let me tell you my story, Mary. My father was a missionary. We traveled all over the world. I ran away at 15. You see, my mother never loved me and my father loved me too much.“
I watched her beautiful, silver hair glistening with the sunlight behind her and her hands worn with years… of tending, pruning, page turning, living. I felt the cold reaching inside trying to get me. My heart cries as she shares her story with me, aches at the depth of her woundedness carried into old age, shaping her days, shaping her life.
Are we all like the leggy rose bush, standing in the cold, damp earth with beauty falling gently around us, landing at our feet? What happens when we reach toward the SON? “Julia Child roses for you, Mary. She still has some left in her…look at the glorious blooms. She doesn’t want to give up.” Despite long seasons of winter and discontent in our lives, dark days and the feelings of being alone and isolated, we have a Father. One who loves us, and His love can never be too much because it is Perfect Love. His Perfect Love casts out all fears, the kind of fears that would cause us to bury the beauty of our souls in days and years of solitude. Fortresses, walls of safety built by wounded hearts…”my mother never loved me…and my father loved me too much“…kind of walls.
Inwardly, I shed tears of joy and tears of sadness that I have made a friend with a beautiful but wounded soul. We have connected on a plane that is visible only through the loving eyes of God. He shows us the heart wounds, cuts to the core and reaches down into our bones. The lady with the stories and silver hair says, “my garden is going to the best ever this spring“, and I believe her. Gardens are better when shared with friends. She uses her soul wounds to create something beautiful: new life, hope, reaching toward the sun (Son), her testimony planting seeds, defying darkness. Digging for seeds of faith and looking for a Father while mothering her garden with a motherly love that she never knew. “She still has some left in her…look at the glorious blooms.” God can reach down into the cold of our bones, the chilling, low, dark and scary places and turn them into roses, turn them into beauty falling all around us. In the faces we meet, the things we see, how we see them, transforming the wounded child inside of each of us into something that displays His splendor. All gardens, real or imagined. The things we plant, nurture and grow in our minds can become beautiful flowers, new life and joy.
His Love Casts Out Fear.
His Love Tears Down Walls.
His Love Heals Wounded Hearts.
His. Love. Plants. Hope.
In the darkness of your soul, keep the Light on. Keep it on through the cold, damp days of your winter. This too shall pass…”she still has some left in her“, “she doesn’t want to give up.”
Reach for the Son.
“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lordhas anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, toproclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”
Isaiah 61:1-3
Absolutely lovely … I can hear your love and admiration for your neighbour – you are both blessed to have each other. Blessings, Celia
♡. Thank you, Celia.
Mary, this has touched my soul.
I had to read it twice. Tears
running down my face as I felt
every word. I did not want it to
end. You know just what to say,
how and when. Thank you. I know you are not well and I pray for God’s healing.You are
such an inspiration to those
blessed to hear your words as I
am. I love you and feel honored
to know you are including me and mine in your prayers. You
are truly one of those Angels who walk among us.Thank you
for loving me and for being my
Sister in Christ. I look to the Son daily.He feeds my soul.
Msy our celebrating his birth be the awesome Hope that keeps us in love.,
A beautiful post, Mary. Thank you.
blessings,
Diana
Thank you, Diana. I’m so glad you liked it and so glad you stopped by for a visit!
xoxo.
Mary