I walked through the warm misty morning air over the brick courtyard to see the roses glistening in the dew. I was instantly mesmerized by the shimmering water on the rose. A mere droplet of water on a petal captivated my soul in worship to my Creator of glory in such small things.
The color was as satiating as a meal for hunger. Describing it as “coral” or “pink” hardly conveyed the nuanced ombré of the lavender tint on the outer most horizon of the petal’s curve. The delicate veins and furl of the petal shown in the iridescent dew making the color seem to glow.
I stood immersed in this museum, admiring the art framed by a symphony of leaves; wondering at the Intelligence behind every facet of this layered masterpiece bursting with reason and beauty inseparable in the design.
The color and scent draw the bees, the bees make the honey and pollinate the food bearing plants and trees. The practical need of sustenance for us is spurred on by the beauty of flowers, the necessary beauty that keeps it all going.
Even a rose being nothing to eat, is a sustenance of a different kind. The rose speaks to something other than food for the body, but food for the soul. It is romance, consolation, congratulation, scent, absolute enjoyment.
“Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?”
Matthew 6:25
The bud cannot receive the bee and the older blossom beautifully scatters her petals below unlike the young blooms held to their stalk. Each one unique in beauty and purpose in its stage of life. The buds are not less lovely because they are not unfurled. They are not rushed or criticized because they are small or grow slowly. The older bloom is still beguiling. They are allowed to be right where they are in all the glory of that moment. The fleeting moments that add up to become its fleeting life.
Even the color of the rose changed with time. The electric coral of its early blossom softened in vibrancy to a no less beautiful pink.
I stood with the roses cherishing them, knowing that while others would come, these would never be again.
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
Matthew 6:28-29
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