A Rose is a Rose

My husband often will bring me a flower. Sometimes it’s for a specific date that is special in our relationship. Our family and friends tease us that we are celebrating something every single day. But seriously, is that really a problem? There are those typical dates that get remembered. The first date. First kiss. Engagement. Anniversary. But in our case we also have the first meal, the first perfume, first ring, second ring…so I guess you get the idea.

My husband loves to surprise me. Once he had 25 roses delivered to me at my office. THAT was pretty spectacular. He loves red roses. I don’t. But even though they were red roses, they were just plain magnificent. For some reason, pink and yellow roses speak to me more than the red, but Superman is a sentimentalist at heart, and red roses=love in his mind.

There was a time that he wanted to give me a rose that would never die. It was preserved in some sort of crystal ball. Unfortunately the seal broke at some point and poof…the rose was spoiled.

Then he got me a beautiful porcelain yellow rose to lay on my desk. It was really beautiful. But…it gathered dust. And had no beautiful scent. And the petals weren’t delicate like a true rose. No matter how hard we may try, there is no substitute for the genuine thing.

So much has been written through the ages about roses and their symbolism. And even the thorns are not without allegory. For some reason the rose continues to be that flower that represents life in its most gentle and beautiful form. Easily bruised like we are. Thorny at times to ward off danger. Blooms that are fleeting just like our lives. The span of man’s life in the balance of eternity is just a microscopic speck.

The Bible refers to Jesus as the Rose of Sharon and also the Lily of the Valley. A tender bloom. A gift to the bride, His church. The giver of life. It’s no wonder that a rose bud has long been the symbol of pre-born life. Roses require regular care if they are going to bloom.

My husband loves to express his love for me in a number of ways, but I must say that while I didn’t use to appreciate the short life span of the flowers, they have come to mean so much more than just a wilted bunch of flowers. The symbolism is far greater than just the flower itself. And that, my friends, is precious.

delicate reminder of tender love

tender sweetness

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