Flowers

A seed develops in my heart. Someday, it will grow into one of the most beautiful of roses. But for now it is just a seed. Then a peddler comes along, selling roses. They’re beautiful. Their fragrance is strong, heady. The price? A seed. Harmless, of course. After all, he only wants to keep a small token for something grand.  A bargain, a picayune seed for an exquisite flower.

I pluck my seed and give it to him. He hands me the flower and snatches the seed from my hand. Cradling the stunning work of art in my hands, I turn and walk away.  Suddenly storm clouds race for position and rain starts to fall. Behind me, finally out of my hearing, the peddler begins to cackle. He holds the seed in between his thumb and pointer finger, raises it above his head and then throws it to the ground with all his might. The seed  bounces on the packed earth from the force but then lands on the road. The peddler raises his leg and brings his foot down on the seed with all his might.

Having made sure the seed is dead, he then looks at my retreating back. He starts to laugh. The rose I clasp in my hands is made of plastic and fabric, sprayed with perfume just moments before he approached me.  He is satisfied. He turns away and begins to hunt for more seeds to crush.

A man emerges from the field surrounding the road. He saw everything. He looks to the ground and sees the poor, helpless, crushed seed. He picks it up gently and takes it to his home, planting it in good soil quickly, whispering hopes and love to it.

I return home and smell the rose. The scent is gone. I touch the petals and feel the weave of the cotton fabric used for them. I rub the leaves and find cold, synthetic plastic, not organic life. I realize to my despair I have been duped. I crumple in tears, holding the fake flower in my hand. Days pass like this. Finally, I look at it again. 

This is as good as it will get, I tell myself. It’s your own fault for being deceived. Now you have to make do with what you have.

I get up and put the plastic stem in a pot and then start to fill the pot with soil. The seed is gone. This shall be the flower that I was supposed to have.  In vain I leave it in the soil and begin to treat it as a real flower, watering it and giving it sunlight.

Months, then years pass and I forget all about the seed I gave up. This is the only flower I deserve.

 Then, one strange day, as I was going about my duties, a stranger walks up to me and says, “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to show you something, something you have needed and wanted but have forgotten.”

Perplexed, I follow him to his home.  There he shows me a pot with a crimson rose in it. Never before had I seen such a beautiful flower. I go over and smell it. A heavenly scent rushes into my nostrils. I lean over and fell the leaves and the petals. The leaves are fresh and the petals soft.  I tell him that he is a supreme gardener and that his rose is beautiful.

He just looks at me and says, “It is not mine.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Yours,” he answers simply. Then he tells me of how he saw the ordeal with the peddler, picked up the seed, and carried it home to take care of it.  Ever since, he had been patiently waiting to find me and give it back, but only at the right time. Today, when it bloomed for the first time, he knew it was time. He went out and searched until he found me, and the rest I knew myself.

He finishes his story and reaches over to the pot. He cradles it in his hands then holds it out to me. “This is yours.”

I am amazed and incredulous. I stammer, “Surely, it belongs to you! You took care of it–”

“I did so only for you. It is my gift to you.”

I take the pot warily. “Of course you want something in exchange for such a gift, am I right?”

He gazes into my eyes and grasps my upper arms. “I ask only for this: Take care of it and nurture it as your own.” He releases my arms and bids me farewell. I wave goodbye and start to walk home, astounded at the gift and its giver’s generosity. I stare at the wonderful plant

I have finally regained my flower. And it is more beautiful than I could have imagined.

*                                       *                                        *

Many times I have fallen for the “Peddler.” He tricked me into giving up my hopes and dreams of love and friendship and gave me something pathetic in return. I however thought it was all I deserved, all I would ever get. I thought that for years.

But God remembered my dreams. He took the “seeds” and nurtured them and gave them back to me, better than I thought I would ever get and much better than I hoped for.

Don’t settle for something lesser than what God has for you. Remember your dreams, your heart’s desires. Satan will try to deceive you into giving them up for a pitiful version while he dances over you’re their deaths. 

But God will remember them. He knows your dreams and he will give you the deepest desires of your heart in His excellent timing. Sometimes you just need to wait.

Holy is He and most worthy of praise.