To Bloom Again

My parents and I recently acquired my great-grandmother’s old place.  My Dad wanted to continue to have the hay and use of the barns, and I wanted a place to eventually put a trailer, so it seemed pretty perfect.  Before we did anything to her house, though, we wanted any of our family to take pictures if they wanted and also to have the opportunity to get some of the old lumber.  My Mamma, however, didn’t want an old window frame or door.  She wanted her momma’s rose bush.

The story, as I’ve been told, is Mamma Bradley brought the rose bush when they moved to Cypress Valley from Culpepper long before my time.  Apparently, Mamma Bradley allowed she wasn’t leaving Culpepper without her plants and without a guarantee that there would be a place for her chickens at their new home.  The rose bush survived the move and was still alive and well when Mamma Bradley passed away only a few days before she would have turned 101.

After she died, her home was rented out to this one and that one and then left vacant for some time.  So, the rose bush was left to fend for itself.  For years, it was watered only when it rained and never pruned.  Needless to say, by the time we acquired the place, it was in pretty sad shape.  In fact, most would have written it off as a lost cause, not worth the effort of saving.  And, though I didn’t know for sure whether even my Mamma could save it, I knew, under her loving care, the odds were in its favor.

So, the task of moving the rose bush to its new home in Mamma’s yard was accomplished, though perhaps not as quickly as she wanted it to be, and she set to work trying to save it.  She watered it daily, fertilized the ground, and did everything in her power to nurse it back to health.

This afternoon, I made my way down to her house to feed my goat and visit with her for a bit.  I fed the goat.  She gave me a couple peppers out of her garden, and we talked for a little bit.  Then, she flashed me that big, beautiful smile of hers and said, “Have you seen the rose bush?”  She had already shown it to my Dad, so I knew it was in bloom, but I hadn’t seen if for myself, so we walked over to it, and sure enough, there were a few tiny blooms along with several buds.  To most, it would just look like an ordinary rose bush.  Knowing the story behind it, to me, it was a pretty awesome sight to behold.

As I looked at the rose bush and thought of its story, I couldn’t help thinking about God.  He often takes people who look like the definition of a lost cause, people who have strayed and tried to make it on their own, people who are parched and almost choked out by the cares of the world, people who, like the rose bush before Mamma got her hands on it, are barely clinging to life, especially in a spiritual sense, and He makes them bloom again.  As soon as they come to Him, He gives them living water to drink.  He prunes them and tends to their soil.  He spares no effort.  And, in time, they no longer look like a lost cause.  They no longer look like they’re one step away from death.  They look like a beautiful, blooming rose bush.  And, I can’t help wondering whether He doesn’t smile and ask His angels, “Have you seen My rose bush?”

I originally wrote and posted all of the above on July 10, 2019.  A year and a day later (July 11, 2020), my grandmother passed away.  (And, oh, how she’s missed!)  It seemed only fitting for the rose bush to come back home.  Now, if you know me, you know I keep a lengthy to-do list at all times.  If you know my Dad as well, you know I get to blame my workaholic tendencies on him.  So, between our constant busyness and wanting to move it at the best time of year, the rose bush didn’t make it home until early this year.  Moving it did not go quite as smoothly this time around, and for the first few weeks, I really thought Dad had moved it for me to have a front row seat to watch it die.  It looked bad.  Really bad. 

Now, when I was little and would bring a plant of any sort home from a school science lesson, Mom would automatically send me to Mamma with it because my Mom does not do plants.  And, we would go to the barn together for some of that “really rich dirt,” also known as cow manure, but for some reason Mamma wouldn’t just call it that.  I guess she thought I might get grossed out or something.  So, one afternoon shortly after we moved the rose bush, I went down to the barn for a bucket of “really rich dirt” and put it around the rose bush.  Thanks to excessive rain lately, I didn’t have to water it often, but if we had some dry days in a row, I would water it.  And, the day I found a caterpillar on it, I may have squashed him with a little bit more zeal than was required.  Other than that, I watched, waited, and hoped the thing would live. 

Little by little, it started looking better.  Then, there were buds on it even.  And, finally, yesterday, I came home from work, and as has become my custom, I immediately looked over at the rose bush when I put my car in park and, for the first time, spotted pink among the green.  It had survived to bloom again, and apart from that day with Mamma, roses have never looked so beautiful to me.

The lesson from before still holds.  I will readily acknowledge that God is always good—always.  That said, life is not.  In life, we’re going to be uprooted at times, and often just when we got comfortable.  We’re going to face adverse circumstances and conditions that take a serious toll on us spiritually speaking.  There will be seasons when, forget blooming, we’re just trying to survive.  Thankfully, God can renew and restore.  God can take a soul that heartache, struggle, and hardship have left barely clinging to life and make it stronger and more beautiful than ever.  He can still make it bloom again.