Our daughter Katie’s dealing with infertility. Some days, faith comes easier for her. Some days, she struggles.
April was a hard month–hormones, injections, ultrasounds, and no pregnancy.
One afternoon on my way to cheer her up, I glanced at my rose bushes beside the garage.
They’ve been a big, fat disappointment. Their leaves are dry and crispy. Their spindly limbs look like skinny arms covered in thorns. And there are only two blooms.
I was ready to give up on our roses. Year after year, I’ve watered them, trimmed them, babied them, and fed them Miracle Grow.
Here they are at the end of July.
This is as good as they get–more blooms than they had in April, but still, look at them.
Friends offered advice:
They’re diseased. Get rid of them.
You shouldn’t have planted them so close to the house.
Plant banana peels round them.
They’re climbers. They need a fence.
I was tired of fooling with them. I’d done all I could do. Still no miracle.
A gentle thought came.
Take Katie the roses.
Two roses from my ugly bushes? That’s not even a real gift. If I had a dozen, maybe.
I inspected the two blooms. One had opened, but the other was closed like a tight, angry fist. Sort of how I felt.
Why, God? A baby. She just wants a baby.
Bring her the roses.
But look at my bushes.
They’re growing so tall, they’re going to clog the gutters.
I got into my car saying NO. Absolutely not.
I was NOT taking her two buds because I didn’t have a promise to go with them.
I couldn’t promise she’d have a baby.
But the Still Small Voice inside wouldn’t give up.
I got out of the car.
Cut the only two blooms I had from my wild, stubborn rose bushes.
Rummaged through the pantry for a vase.
But something happened on the way to Katie’s house. I saw their beauty, their soft petals unfurling in the sun.
Finally, I got honest with God.
Lord, will You take this piece of my broken heart and bless it? It’s all I have to give her.
Katie opened the door and I stumbled through my explanation. “I brought you two roses from our yard.”
I wanted to say, “One’s for a mama and one’s for a baby.”
But I couldn’t promise that.
She took the vase from my hands, and I said the one thing I knew for sure–the only promise I could make.
“I don’t understand, but I know God loves you. He hasn’t forgotten you.” Click to tweet.
Her eyes filled with tears.
She nodded and hugged me for a long time, His Grace filling all the empty space between us.
Sometimes the prettiest blooms come from the straggly limbs–from broken places when all you have to offer is His love.
Have you ever brought the gift of God’s love to someone? It’s powerful, isn’t it?
Are you in a season of disappointment? God loves you. He hasn’t forgotten you.