Miss Havisham's Roses

There is a poignant beauty in Miss Havisham’s roses. (see Dickens, Great Expectations).

They still speak of a love which was strong. But in Miss Havisham’s case, it was a love without sacrifice, a love without commitment, a love that ultimately wavered, leaving Miss Havisham a Miss for all of her life.

I always refer to roses at this state as Miss Havisham’s roses, but in fact mine came from a husband who has loved sacrificially, totally committed, unconditionally. So they are not, strictly speaking, anything like her roses.

The beauty of the Cross is that it speaks of a love that is so strong, so unconditional, so sacrificial, so committed, that it never wilts nor dies but just remains there for us all. As we cling to the Cross we cling to the Lord who gave his all for the whole world, whose love transcends time, nationality, religion and gender, unconditional, eternal.

I love Miss Havisham’s roses, and fresher ones too, but even more, I love the Cross. Full of gratitude to the God who died for me.

Bunches of Roses

Don gave me a big bunch of multi-coloured roses on Saturday. I’m not very good at floral art, so as usual have stuck the whole bunch into my biggest vase, where they look colourful and beautiful and remind me of his love.

I have lots of greenery in the garden, though, and was thinking that with a bit of time and a modicum of talent, I could fill two or three vases with greenery and intersperse the roses through the house.

B&B guests would enjoy the beauty of the roses, on the landing or in the dining room.

It made me think of Christians, bunching together on Sundays in our church services. We probably look colourful and maybe even beautiful and remind the world of the love of God. If the world is even watching, or aware of us.

Come Monday mornings and we are scattered to our work places and neighbourhoods. We are interspersed amongst the greenery of non-Christian settings, where we can bring beauty and colour as we live out the life of Jesus in our daily lives.

It’s easier to bunch together and join our voices in praise of God. More challenging to show the beauty of Christ in a secular setting. 

But exactly what the world needs. To see Jesus in us. To experience his peace, his joy, his beauty. So this week, I am going to be more aware than ever of maintaining my integrity as a believer in the midst of my daily routines.

Fed by the Word of God, and the prayer that unites me with Jesus by the power of the Spirit.

Think I’ll be a red rose. A sign of love.

Grafted in

I’m looking at some beautiful roses from our garden.

They grow up one stem and then divide into three or four small blooms, and are the most delicate shade of peachy white. Just gorgeous.

Well, I brought this one stem in yesterday and as I looked at it, I noticed the stump from where I had dead-headed an earlier bloom. It got me to thinking about the Trinity, and me. The Trinity – Father, Son and Holy Spirit – is such a hard concept to understand. Three in one – how does that work exactly? Recently I read someone comparing the relationship within the Trinity as an intimate dance, into which the Godhead is seeking to draw each of us in. I love that image. 

But back to the stump. We’re also told that we have been grafted in, and that if we don’t bear fruit, we will be cut off. That stump makes me think of being cut off, but given my thoughts during the last few days about abiding in Jesus rather than being required to be rushing around doing stuff all the time, I don’t feel daunted, just reminded, challenged, to abide.

It looks beautiful to abide. Just look at those roses. 

The sun is out and I’m working in the garden today, but while I am working there, I am abiding. I see evidence of the creativity of the Lord everywhere, and as I pluck and eat a warm raspberry, or dig up clumps of irises, I praise him.

Thank God that I’ve been grafted in.

Miss Havisham's Roses

On the table before me is a crystal vase filled with fading roses, given to me by my Valentine a couple of weeks ago. There is something about them that prevents me tossing them into the compost heap. Something beautiful about their colours, fading, the edges of the petals going brown and thin and crinkly as paper. I threw a couple out today which were edging towards black. But the majority remain, red and peach coloured, cream and pink.

My Valentine and I have been married now for nearly 37 years. So maybe I see us in these fading roses. Still got some colour, a spark of life. Not yet black and limp. Not yet ready for the compost heap.

I finished re-reading Great Expectations on Sunday morning. It is one of my very favourite books. Miss Havisham and her roses. Fading and yellowing together. Dying incrementally. A testament in her eyes to a love betrayed and never consummated. Something a bit creepy about her deliberate strategy of revenge to be wreaked on the male gender – in the book, on poor innocent Pip.

Poor Miss Havisham, just wanted to be loved.

There is such a deep urge in each one of us to love and to be loved.

I wonder where that comes from, if we all just ‘happened’ into being as a result of a cosmic big bang not underpinned by an intelligence far beyond us.

I think it’s pretty obvious that the basic building block of life is Love.

Don’t you?

Pruning the Blooms

Just in from pruning the roses. I feel like I betrayed them, as I cut off so many buds and blooms. But my gardening guru neighbour Mary advised a few weeks back that I needed to bed the garden down for winter, which meant pruning even if they were in bloom. They will be stronger and more beautiful next year, she assured me.

I hope she’s right. I do enjoy the roses – their intoxicating fragrance and regal beauty.

I have been pruned too, this week. There was an issue that needed a solution, and when it came in Scripture I was reading, the pruning was all mine. I’d been too immersed in the situation to recognise that I should, and could, take the first step.

And while I’d expected that pruning to hurt, in fact it felt freeing, releasing. God gave me the grace to let it go and feel completely unencumbered by it. 

Now, maybe I’m ready to bed down for winter, and pray for glorious blooms when the season comes round again!

Miss Havisham's Roses

On the table before me is a crystal vase filled with fading roses, given to me by my Valentine a couple of weeks ago. There is something about them that prevents me tossing them into the compost heap. Something beautiful about their colours, fading, the edges of the petals going brown and thin and crinkly as paper. I threw a couple out today which were edging towards black. But the majority remain, red and peach coloured, cream and pink.

My Valentine and I have been married now for nearly 37 years. So maybe I see us in these fading roses. Still got some colour, a spark of life. Not yet black and limp. Not yet ready for the compost heap.

I finished re-reading Great Expectations on Sunday morning. It is one of my very favourite books. Miss Havisham and her roses. Fading and yellowing together. Dying incrementally. A testament in her eyes to a love betrayed and never consummated. Something a bit creepy about her deliberate strategy of revenge to be wreaked on the male gender – in the book, on poor innocent Pip.

Poor Miss Havisham, just wanted to be loved.

There is such a deep urge in each one of us to love and to be loved.

I wonder where that comes from, if we all just ‘happened’ into being as a result of a cosmic big bang not underpinned by an intelligence far beyond us.

I think it’s pretty obvious that the basic building block of life is Love.

Don’t you?