This came to me in the Daily Wisdom e-mail I get every day.
I think even and especially children will understand.
The little rose bush stood in the city park. It was a wonderful spot to be
rooted, surrounded by trees and having a view of the great stone fountain
where stone angel's poured water from pitchers and children laughed.
Little birds tiptoed around the fountain's edge like tiny dancers.
Butterflies flitted about from bush to bush and bees hummed a lazy tune in
the warm air that also carried the rich golden scent of the flower garden.
"Oh it is so very grand to be alive today," sighed Mathe rose. Seeing the
way the children were drawn to the daisies, weaving them into chains,
seeing lovers gather up the big red roses, Mathe sighed with longing. "Pick
me," she wished. "Choose me. Notice me. Take me to your love. Wear me
in your hair. Carry me on the wedding day." But day after day, season after
season she was passed over.
While there were many kinds of flowers in the park, Mathe rose was a rare
and beautiful copper colored rose. Not a large bush. Not showy or overly
proud. The flowers on each stem were tiny as tea roses that could fit
neatly
in a baby's hand. Many passed her by, not realizing how very fine the
little
rose bush was.
She had not been created in a laboratory by a scientist as so many modern
wonders tend to be, but by the powers of light and being that created all
the
planet's natural wonders.
The scent of this little rose bush was not overpowering. It was soft as a
butterfly's wing and seemed to help those who breathed it to remember
something good and sweet and fine about the world. Her color was bold and
vibrant as a spark in the sunset sky, but only those who looked
carefully ever saw this. As a matter of fact, the other flowers were so
strong
and so large that by and by they grew right around and over the little rose
bush. Mathe was almost completely hidden from view.
The water of the fountain flowed and sparkled in the sun and Mathe could
hear the murmur of the watering angels as they poured. "Do not be sad
little
one," they told her. "Every flower blooms and is seen by those who need
what it has to offer. Let the others pass. Do not be sad."Mathe listened to
the watering angels and kept right on blooming no matter how thick the
other flowers became. Then one day the skies grew dark and the wind blew
and the rain came down like water pouring from one of the stone angels.
When the storm had passed many of the flowers had been beaten down
around her.
On that morning as the flowers lay in ruins a little boy came into the
park.
His face was streaked with water that did not come from the rains. Big
tears
rolled from his brown eyes and he wiped them away. He was not alone. He
had come to the park with his father to look for flowers to take to his
grandmother who had become very sick. She was not sick in her body but
in her heart. Granddad had passed away from life and since then, Gran had
not been the same. She had stopped going to the park and seeing friends
and had taken to her bed to close life away and wait for her time to go.
But today when the boy had gone to visit she said she missed the days
when they went to the park. When his father saw that the storm had broken
all the flowers he told the boy that they would have to go and buy flowers
at the store instead. The boy began to cry. "I promised to bring Gran a
flower from her favorite park," the boy said to his father. "She said not
to
spend my money, but to bring her one that I pick. She said she wanted
something from Angels' Park because this is our place for making good
memories."
So it was that the boy and his father began to search through the ruined
garden for something beautiful. "It is no use son," said the father. "There
is
nothing left here. We will buy a flower. Gran won't know the difference."
The child would not give up his quest. "I will know the difference," he
said
to his father. "Gran will know too." Mathe knew this boy. She had seen him
and his grandmother and grandfather many times. They liked to feed the
little birds and pitch copper coins into the fountain and make wishes.
As Mathe thought about the boy and his family she held herself straight and
tall and reached toward the sun. A little breeze stirred her and that
scent,
soft as a butterfly's wing and filled with the sweetness of life, drifted
to
the boy and his father.
They turned just as the sun came out from behind a cloud and made the
rain-wet copper of her tiny petals sparkle like dozens of new pennies in
the
fountain. The child rushed to her and knelt down. "Look," he shouted to his
father. "It looks like it's on fire. It smells like a good memory. This is
perfect."
Carefully, the child snapped off one tiny branch that supported three tiny
copper roses. "One for you, one for me and one for Gran," the boy said.
"Perfect." While Mathe could not go with the child, the part of her that
was
with him could see everything that happened from that moment on.
Mathe watched the boy and his father walk off. Then she saw the room and
the bed with the white sheets and the tiny old woman asleep in the bed.
Mathe could see vases filled with every kind of flower imaginable and she
worried that the old woman might be disappointed.
The boy took the little sprig of flowers and used the little copper petals
to
stroke the old cheek of the lady who meant so much to him. Mathe felt a
shiver of warmth. Then she watched the change take place. The old
woman's breath has been weak, but when she breathed in the scent of
the flowers she breathed deep and strong. A smile lit her face and her eyes
opened. She looked at the child and then at the tiny copper roses. She took
another deep breathe of the perfume of good memories and love that the
flowers brought with them from the park.
"A Mathe rose as I live and breathe," Said Gran in a voice that suddenly
sounded stronger than it had in days. "Why I haven't seen one of these
since I was a little girl. How did you find it child?" The boy grinned, "I
went to Angels' Park and all the flowers were broken by the storm and this
was the only flower bush left standing in the whole garden."Gran nodded
her head and took the tiny sprig of roses in her hand. "You know,
they say that anybody can find a red rose in the garden. Most can weave a
daisy chain on a summer day. But it takes someone looking with love in
their eyes to find a Mathe rose to chase the sadness away." Then Gran sat
up and to everyone's great surprise she got out of bed and began to dress
for
an outing. When she was finished she took the little sprig of flowers and
put it in a tiny crystal vase by a sunny window where the roses sparkled.
Then she turned to the boy and said, "I am feeling like a walk around
Angels' Park this afternoon. Since your Granddaddy isn't here now I think
we ought to have your Daddy come penny wishing with us. "The boy and
his father both smiled. When they arrived at the park it was almost sunset
and the long golden rays fell over the garden. Gran saw the little rose
bush
glimmering there. Then she looked around at the ruined flowers all around
and began to roll up her sleeves.
"Seems like we have some work to do on this garden," she said. Then she
smiled and took a deep breath filled with the scent of the copper roses.
She
remembered all that she loved about living. So it was that the new flowers
were planted in a circle around the littlest, but most lasting rose bush in
the
garden. A little stone marker was set in front of the little bush that
read:
"Mathe Rose - a rare flower to help us remember our joy."
In the spring of the next year people still were drawn to the bright red
roses and children still made their chains out of daisies. Only now
everyone
noticed the little bush and the sign beneath. That one tiny bush with its
copper penny blossoms is the reason people are always reminding each
other to stop and smell the roses.
Contributed by Lisa Suhay
suhays@home.com
(Copyright (c) Lisa Suhay)
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Chose you this day whom you will serve,
as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.
Joshua 24:15
What is popular is not always right.
What is right is not always popular.
