Oh, the beauty of a rose! They come in so many colors and varieties, choosing which ones to purchase is difficult. I love the fragrant ones. It is a double win. Beauty and fragrance.

At one point, I had 150 rose bushes. Early mornings would find me in the rose garden spraying for pests and fertilizing and watering. Roses love a lot of care. Withhold that care and they just slowly die.

I loved taking bouquets of flowers to friends and family. Blessing others with God’s beauty just made me happy.

When the children were teens, I picked lots of bouquets for Rob’s future wife. And bless their hearts, I didn’t think we should pay money for prom corsages and boutonnieres. I would let them choose the flower and then I’d make whatever they needed. They always wore what I made and to their credit did not complain. My hope was that we were making memories.

When I walked through the rose garden, I’d call Baxter to come, which he did. I’d say, “Aren’t these roses just beautiful?” to which he would always reply, “Are they not?”

But while roses are beautiful, they have a mean streak. I cannot tell the number of times I’ve been “stuck” or had my arm or leg sliced open. The thorns on a rose are mean-spirited. The
Rose Society always warned about getting cut. It seems all kinds of nasty bacteria lurk in a rose garden and some rosarians have suffered greatly. So with great beauty can come great pain.

My Mom used to say that her life had been like a rose. It had been beautiful, but there were a few thorns on her roses. She always quickly added that there had been very few thorns.

Her analogy became mine. Life is beautiful like a rose. The fragrance can be intoxicating. A bouquet feels like love spoken with flowers. But life does bring some thorns.

I’d like to become mature enough to see God’s beauty in spite of life’s thorns.