Some of us are wilting for want of a Covid-free and hassle-free holiday, a proper time away from our oh so familiar homes, our troubled shores. A place in the sun, no less, reliable sunshine, that is.

Although there is beauty, refreshment and restfulness to be had closer to home than you might think. We English (or any other nationality, of course) roses can shine right here, right now, as we glow with the light of Christ, and have our beautiful flowering.

You might consider yourself to be more of a weed or wildflower, invisible to most, a person on the margins, not especially prized, perhaps. But wherever you are, and whoever you are, you are far from invisible to God. He watches carefully over all your seasons of flowering and growth.

Because wherever you and I might live, we can bloom right where we are planted. We can have a spiritual flowering any moment, any day, any season of the year we might be in. We only need to be willing to follow God’s timing.

“A flower’s appeal is in its contradictions — so delicate in form yet strong in fragrance, so small in size yet big in beauty, so short in life yet long on effect.” — Terri Guillemets

Flowering

I observe how
each rosy-pink
of these growing buds
slowly begins to open
up, and fill with moisture,

like rain-saturated
tea cups, which turns them
into spreading, pale, creamy,
dark pink dotted petals, as if 
they are covered in measles.

While the lush green
leaves expand, stretch 
themselves to accommodate
each spilling, fragrant
froth of flower

in its opening up,
as they try to gather
more chlorophyll greening
into themselves
from light in their veins.

This lovely rose
bush has her face
uptilted, as if she
is smiling at the sun,
welcoming its warming

touch, giving life
and heat and energy
in which to bloom 
where she is planted,
here in this space.

And I wonder
if I am similarly 
receptive to the light
shining within and without,
as ready to stay 

rooted for months,
patiently waiting for
my turn in the sun,
my flowering to come.
© joylenton

“Earth laughs in flowers.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson