Gathering Roses

Once, there was a girl child whose heart was the soul of springtime. But she lived as an orphan in the hard city, where winter seemed to rule even in the heat of summer. Then one day, a kindly man brought her to live with him at his large country estate, as his very own daughter and heir.

"This is your home now, and in time, you will be the mistress of it all. For now, you may fill your heart gathering every flower you wish in its gardens, and grow and learn and become worthy of what will be given to you." He loved her dearly, and watched with a full heart as she flitted about the garden, pausing to admire each rose and lily, choosing the best to add to her burgeoning bouquet. She kissed him with gratitude.

But the next morning, she remembered the early years, alone in the city. It seemed incredible that so much could truly be hers. She poked her head in the old man's study and cleared her throat, "Excuse me sir, I was wondering if I might pick a few of the red roses today?"

"Of course, child, they are yours! You needn't ask, every flower is your own." She smiled, courtsied, and scampered to gather the roses.

Later that afternoon, she came upon an unexplored part of the garden, where grew a towering lilac tree with the most exquisite blossoms that filled the air with the perfume of their wonder. She touched them in silence, almost reverence. Though her skin was white and clean, she still remembered herself the street urchin she had been, and withdrew her hand. Yet her heart ached to add them to her bouquet. Her benefactor came slowly up the path behind her.

"Please, sir. Might I also have this lilac, to cut?" she asked, not daring to meet his eyes, feeling that she had already been given so much, it was sheer greed to request yet more.

"Dear one, it is your lilac already. Pick it if you will," he replied quietly.

She hugged him, overwhelmed with his new generosity, and carefully added one of the delicate beauties to her bouquet.

They shared dinner that night in the grand dining room, cozy at the dark wood table, topped with the splendid bouquet.

The night air was sweet, and as it came through the girls open window, the girl fell quickly asleep, but dreamed of the cold.

The next morning, she dressed. Her heart remembered the day before and the splendor of the garden. Though she had drank in every bit of it, her heart was so long starved of color and of tender things that grow, the yearning was unquenched. She crept down the hall to the master's room once more.

She knocked and he beckoned her come. She stood quiet before him, and looked at the floor as she asked, "Please, sir, might I gather flowers in the garden once more?"

Silence met her request as her eyes stayed on her shoes. She knew that she should not have had the audacity to be so greedy! How could she be so presumptious when he had already been so kind! Yet the need in her heart for these delicate twists of color and scent could not be satiated. Finally she raised her eyes to catch a glimpse of his face.

There were tears in his eyes, and finally he sighed.

"I have told you before, the gardens are yours and every flower in them. You are my own daughter now. I would have you believe me, and accept the gifts I give. I didn't tell you before, but these gardens are my life's work. I dug the ground myself, turning each bit with the spade, and I watchfully cared for each seed as it grew. I pruned them and shaped them, all with the desire that one day my child may come and enjoy them. My mind has been on you, all these years, as I have worked. Finally, I have given this gift, and you will not take it. Please, receive the garden. Do not cut my heart again by asking for what is already yours."

The spring child finally understood what she had received, and her own eyes filled with tears. She hugged him tight around the neck and didn't let go for a very long time. Then the two of them went hand and hand to the garden, to gather roses.


It has pleased our Father to provide cleansing for every sin we commit or ever will commit. He has paid dearly with the blood of his Son to complete payment that we could be totally forgiven. Let us not, in the hold of a contrite heart that desires to express repentence, ask again for what he has already given: forgiveness. If he has not totally forgiven us already, then we are dead in our sins. His holiness is too high for the wages of sin to be anything less than death. As we are in Christ, the demanded life debt has been paid once and for all. May we come to him and repent of our every unfaithfulness, and confess our sins one to another, without insulting the Christ who has completely forgiven us. Let us not ask again for the forgiveness that is already given, but humbly thank him for it, as we discover daily how profound our need of it is.