A Rose called Hope
Hope is as pink as a wild rose. I see it’s pink petals beginning to unfold. This hope is like the wild roses I’ve seen flourishing on the edge of the gravel road on my way home. The light pink blossoms remind me that beauty can thrive even in rocky soil.
The same wild roses grew on the edge of the land my husband’s grandparents used to live on. The same property that beheld the life of his dear grandmother, Ellen, and witnessed the house fire that took her life. Though the grass had been scorched only a few feet away, the rose patch still was in bloom like a hope in the midst of the shadow of death. I too am hopeful even as I stand in the midst of life’s hardships and trials.
Battles often seem to wage against the most important things in my life. Conflicts arise with my children, in my marriage, and in ministry. To be honest, as much as I long for hope, it can be fleeting. In the battle, hope shines bright like the sun on a spring day. Its warmth spreads quickly across discouraging thoughts only to be cooled by incoming clouds bringing rain. Still in such storms my head is lifted almost by an unseen force, something supernatural. Inside I feel the breathing in and out of the fresh message of optimism. Even when the sun is hiding and the wind still feels cold I hear it, “You are never alone,” with a million little reminders like flowerets in the midst of life’s thorns.
Wild Roses…
One day as I drove past them on my road I wondered if I could transplant some of them to my yard. When I got home I took a shovel and started to walk. I walked further than I had estimated. When I drove by the flowers it seemed like the distance was as far as my neighbor’s house, but in reality I walked a half mile to reach them. It was a hot and dusty journey as cars passed by. When I finally reached the patch I put the shovel to the ground. The earth was too hard to get at the roots. Again I tried but could feel a blister forming on my hand. This hope would take sweat and hard labor to remove.
Then I had an idea, maybe I could pull the plant out. I tried it only once realizing instantly how wild beauty came with sharp tiny thorns that dug into my flesh. With hands blistered and bloody I soon gave up my mission. I didn’t capture the wild roses that day, and I have never tried again. As unlikely as it seemed to me, these beauties sprung up among the weeds and refused to be moved.
Hope is resilient.
Even in the midst of the battle and the losses, it still flourishes. When it comes down to the things that matter most in life the struggle to hold on is worth the pain. Any new mother knows this to be true. To bring a beautiful baby into this world every mother knows there is pain in the process. Still the promise of new life makes the sacrifice worth it.
The spring season has just started. The gravel road is soft and soggy with fallen rain. The prairie grass is still brown and flat from the mounds of snow pressing it down into the ditches. It is a sloppy mess.
At present there is no sign of the wild roses, no human hand tends the tender blossoms, but even now nature is unfolding her plan to launch vibrant beauty to come. Maybe today you are discouraged. You might be wondering if hope could ever bloom again. Pause in that question, friend. Remember the lesson from nature: After the winter the spring rains bring new life. Just as the seasons run their coarse, so also if we are willing, the darkest night can dawn a new day.
“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.”
So let’s hold on…take the risk to trust in God…Decide yet again to surrender. Then we can sit back and see the pretty pink petals open up in the warm sun as a rose called hope comes back to life again.