May is in full bloom and I’m wallowing
in roses. Every day finds me pulling into nurseries for another load of the lovelies to plant and tend. My arms feel as if I’ve been hugging porcupines.
Just a few short months ago, I pulled
into this nursery and instead of lush growth and flowers, a smooth sea of naked roses glistened like inlet waters at low tide. Hundreds of potted bare stalks spread out in cold March sunshine, unrealized dreams just
waiting for time to coax life back into branches.
It was a pool of ugly to the unseeing eye. Easy to overlook, their value was underwraps.
In just a few short months, all those barren brown faces have come alive in a gazillion shades
of pinks and reds with creamy stripes and freckles. There was massive beauty in all that dormant promise.
I’ve been aching over loved ones so like those roses….people who need time and liberal applications of acceptance, like fertilizer, to come through their gangly seasons and bloom.
Love sees their depth and design…sees past their slippings and slidings
and defences and hidings.
We’re all gardeners with lives to tend….people to love.
They need to be seen and affirmed and loved out loud.
I want to look past brittle stalks to the juice surging within the root stock… finding the beauty and singing it strong.
Creativity thrives in my garden when I believe the God who loves me….because He looks and sees through the artistic eyes of One who restores. I want those eyes…for real love to so infuse my looking that it brings rest and relief to hearts grown heavy with gaze.
Living things don’t lose their value during dormant seasons;
don’t quit on the ragamuffins in your life.