A Reluctant Rose Lady

As the second spring in our new home arrived, I found myself weeding and trimming twenty rose bushes. Yes, twenty bushes! Caring for so many bushes took more time than I had while working full time. I had intentionally chosen to have only two rose bushes at our previous home. As my hands worked in the soil and I felt the sun beating on my back, my first instinct was to grumble, as I had the previous year. Instead, I chose to notice each unique color combination of the tea rose bushes, since no two were alike, and heirloom varieties that flourished beside newer varieties. I started to visualize the original owner of this home as she chose each bush and lovingly arranged them in this large flower bed. As I worked with my roses, I decided they were obviously meant to be shared, so I began taking cut roses to my office each week.

My coworkers and our patients loved them and dubbed me “the Rose Lady.” I soon found other opportunities to share them with ailing friends, church members, and even for a wedding! I remembered how I had dreaded the work of caring for the roses that first year and wondered what I would ever do with all those flowers.

Now I was experiencing such joy as I shared them.

Today, as I knelt in my garden, working the soil and sweating in the sun, I remembered the dear older couple who had originally built this home.

Sadly, they are both gone now. I thought of their old, gnarled hands weeding this very soil before me. Hands that were once young planted and cared for these roses.

Now I am honored to care for them and use them to bless others. It is no longer a burden. It has become a labor of love. As I finished patting the soil around each bush, I noticed a bit of blood on my thorn-pricked finger, reminding me of Jesus’ nail-pierced hands. There was no reluctance on His part to come and save us. He never complained but loved us so intensely that He gave His life freely to save us. Thank You for the fragrance of Your love, Lord.

May its sweetness flow through me and bless the world.

Judith Woodruff Williamson