His Rose

On this Ash Wednesday, I am delighted to feature a guest blogger, my sister Alison T. Crews. Have a thoughtful and blessed Lenten season.

         
           Roses have always had a very special place in my heart. Growing up, our Grandmother had a double lot in Yonkers NY. This was uncommon; most yards were partially or fully paved. Grandma's yard was completely outlined in roses - many different colors and varieties. When we would visit from Georgia, she would let us go out in the yard, pick roses and make an arrangement in a vase.  It was a very special and grown up thing for me. They were beautiful, and part of her, and it was a treasure for her to share.

            These lovely memories all come flooding back to me when I tend the roses outside of my home. Feeding them, pruning them and even the ever-present dead heading throughout the long blooming season in Georgia.  But by far the most daunting of all rose care tasks is the winter cut back. The lady who we bought our home from was older and lived alone. The year we moved in the roses were HUGE, leggy and unruly, but still gifted beautiful blossoms. That next winter I made it a point to cut the roses back. In the spring and summer, they were full, and healthy and the roses made me smile. 

            So here it is February, winter in Georgia. Time to cut the roses back. Roses have quite the bite with their stickers and these bushes are about 12 years old – capable of making a grown man (or woman) cry. Today was sunny and I enjoyed being outside.  I took my task slowly and seriously. Cutting the bushes way back to encourage a nice fat bush to fill with blooms in the spring and summer. There were times when the branches got caught in my hair like little deadly combs, pulling my ponytail out. The branches snagged my clothing and my skin. Some even broke off through my gloves lodging themselves in my fingers.

             I started to think, “Why the heck am I doing this – it hurts”.  To which I responded, "It is a labor of love." Painful fingers and colorless bushes give birth to a season bursting with beauty, color, butterflies, bees, happiness and fond memories of my family and childhood. A true labor of love.

            As we move toward Lenten preparation, I cannot help but allow the thorns and the pain they brought me to lead me to thoughts of  Jesus. His crown of thorns and the suffering he endured at Golgotha prepared the way for His resurrection and our eternal lives with Him and the Father in Heaven. His life was taken from him---for us. We are His true labor of love, His family, His rose.

Alison T. Crews