Standing Among My Roses

This special rosebush lives beside our mailbox and was a birthday present from my in-laws several years back.  When we first planted it the buds were yellow and, as the flowers unfolded, they would be yellow with barely-tinged red edges.  Now, as you can see, the flowers come in all red.

My father-in-law, who's thumb is *much* greener than my black one, says it's our soil content that encouraged our rosebush to become red.  He tells me the same thing happens with other plants and trees, too, like Japanese Maples.  The actual color of their flowers and leaves is determined by the soil they make their home in. 

(hmmm... I believe there might be an interesting writing prompt in there somewhere...)

Smiling because I really like that my bush has metamorphosed this way.  "She" reminds me of my dear Grandma who cherished her red roses and often brought in a few flowers, putting them in water, so we (and she) could enjoy them on the inside, too.

Whenever I'm really missing my Grandma (usually around this time of year in May when roses bloom), I intentionally seek out rose-scented things - lotion, candles - to surround myself with trusting she's in there/here, too.  And, she adds with a soft smile, I've also been known to buy myself roses for my birthday in honor of my Grandma, my Moma and me.  

I'm really drawn to the idea that roses are associated with Mary, the mother of Jesus, too.  I feel a deep closeness with her and am so grateful for her being my first introduction to a feminine face of God.  Something I've desperately needed in my faith journey.  But then, she says with a warm twinkle, you already knew that about me, didn't you?

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