 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
Published in VISTA (a publication of the Wesleyan Publishing
House).
The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some
understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting
anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance (I Peter 3:
9).
I started the mower and thoughtlessly went about the yard
work. Distracted for the moment by the weeds threatening the
patches of green, I failed to notice it. As I turned the corner and
headed in the opposite direction, I looked up and could not
believe my eyes. The rose bush was loaded with blooms. I
nearly did a somersault so great my jubilation.
When we moved into our home fourteen years earlier, we
carefully examined the various plants and foliage in the yard.
To our dismay, we saw a thorny, sprawling green something. I
was tempted to uproot the scratchy sprig. My husband
cautioned me against it and begged for my patience. “I think it
is the beginning of a rose bush. Let’s leave it alone and see
what happens.”
Now anyone who knows me very well knows that gardening is
not one of my strong suits. My summertime prowess is better
demonstrated on the golf course than in my back yard. I’ve
tried planting and caring for flowers in the past with
embarrassing results, giving me the well-deserved nickname of
Kill Them Dead Rondeau.
“Roses need a lot of care,” I told him. “I don’t think it’ll
survive.” In spite of my trepidations, my husband’s wishes
prevailed. The scrawny, unidentified bush was given a reprieve.
The next summer we checked the mysterious green thing. It
had grown a few feet. “Okay. We’ll give you another year,” I
warned the sapling. The next few summers saw continued
growth but no bloom. I begged my husband to uproot the ugly
plant. His protests were louder than my disbelief. The bush was
granted another stay of execution.
The next summer, my husband chopped down a wild tree that
had somehow become entwined into the thorny bush. When I
looked at the root, I noticed a pile of dead leaves had congealed
around its stem. I was astute enough to realize that even I could
barely function when my breathing was impaired. I cleaned the
dead leaves out and warned the bush its days were numbered.
The bush and I retained a stand off for a few more years. I
cleared out a patch of ground that included the area where the
bush grew and planted Impatiens. I thought perhaps I might
have some luck growing something that was already alive then
trying to help a seed sprout.
The Impatiens not only survived, but they provided me with a
pleasant view from my kitchen window. So enjoyable the
experience, I decided to try it again the following year. This
time, my husband poured some topsoil on the patch and pruned
the still unclassified bush. Two months later, the bush bloomed.
Not just a few blossoms but more than I could count.
I thought about that rose bush the rest of the summer. It had
taken nearly fourteen years to realize its potential. I thought
about the beauty I would have missed if my impatience had won
over my husband’s dogged persistence.
I thought about the prayer of an anxious mother for her
troubled child —year after year watching that child resist the
Lord's calling. I thought about how God didn’t give up on me,
patiently pushing and prodding until I finally surrendered.
I learned that like that stubborn rose bush, seeds of faith
germinate according to God’s schedule and not according to our
rushed desires. Those buds will eventually bear good fruit.
Have you prayed for years and are still waiting for an answer?
Have you labored for a cause, yet have not seen results?
Do you feel like your influence is of no consequence?
God will accomplish what He sets out to do. He is sure to fulfill
his promise. Our job is to remain obedient, continually
cultivating, and trusting that we will one day see the results of
our faith.
Written by
Linda Rondeau
Copyright by Linda Rondeau
For reprint permission
email: lrondeau@westelcom.com
| Lessons from a Rose Bush |
| PREVIOUS FEATURES A Bell Ringer's Epiphany All Things To All Men Just Like My Daddy Where Did Prince Charming Go? If You Don't Climb The Mountain, You Can't Get The View A Tribute to Dynamic Debbie |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
