Ramblings on Roses

Thinking, thinking.

On Monday I stood in line in the florist section, and since the little old lady ahead of me was taking an immensely long time, I looked at the flowers. I thought about pretty the roses were. Looked them all over again. Tried not to be too impatient when the old lady was joined by her husband and they seemed to want to talk forever about funerals to the florist lady. Looked at the roses again and thought about how lovely it would be to receive a dozen of them. πŸ˜€ Almost danced a jig right then and there. (To curb my I’m-getting-tired-of-waiting-in-line urges, of course)

[rose from Ethan & Phyllis’ wedding]

Later I was thinking about the pertinent comparison in my life. Here I am, thinking about how sweet it would be to bury my nose in some gorgeous red petals, and know they were just for me! I wish such things, and then I forget that “Someone special” is trying to give me that very thing I desire…

How often does Jesus passionately pursue me and I reject Him? Very often, I’m afraid. He stands at my front door, holding a dozen red roses behind His back… just waiting for me to open it and see Him. The roses are His special gift for me. They symbolize His pursuit and love for me. Sometimes I go so far as to open the door and tentatively poke my head out, and then instead of delightfully receiving His gift, I get scared and slam the door in His face.

It’s true. And I want to stop slamming doors so rudely, and instead joyfully bask in the pursuit of the Prince of Peace. He’s also the King of Kings! (Ha, top that!)

So if you happen to see me sniffing every wild rose out there this summer… I’m just enjoying my bouquet πŸ˜€


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