Tag: Roses

What is Your Garden Like?

Published on by marycatherinethomas2 Comments

“And when He had sent them away, He departed to the mountain to pray.” Mark 6:46 (NKJV)

Yesterday we sang the hymn “I Come to the Garden Alone”. I have sang this song for years. I have read cute stories of children asking who Andy is, and parents discovering that it is this hymn they are talking about, confusing the words, And He for Andy. “And He walks with me, and He talks with me, And He tells me I am His own;” Often when I hear this song, I think of that story.

I love gardens. When I think of a prayer garden I imagine a beautiful spot in the middle of a lush growing garden of flowers. There is either a bench in the middle or a swing. It is sweet and peaceful in my mind. Or the other scenario I think of a garden is the picture we have seen since we were little of the garden Jesus went to before his arrest. I see a spot with a large stone where you can lean upon and pray. Of course, in reality, this would not do for me. I would be hesitant to lean upon a rock not knowing if a snake of any sort would be sunning itself on it. Plus, kneeling on the ground where creepy crawlers could crawl up on you is not my thing.

In my reality I have no official garden. I sing the first stanza, “I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses.” I love roses, but I have no roses. I can point to the places where I have attempted growing roses and then point to deer who have eaten my roses until they do not exist.

So, in truth, I have no actual garden. Or, so I thought.

Our worship leader yesterday paused before singing this song. She had been struggling with the meaning of the second verse, “I’d stay in the garden with Him Though the night around me be falling, But He bids me go; through the voice of woe His voice to me is calling.” She went on to describe how the voice of woe is not sadness, but like grandparents are sad to see their grandchildren depart, they know they will return, but tears are shed at their departure. Then as the grandchildren depart, the grandparents will stand in the doorway or driveway and wave to them.

As she spoke, this picture came to mind. This is Little Man when he was Little (he is now a young man). He was going back home and grabbed my hand and told me we needed to hide so he could stay with me. I picked him up and we walked outside. While we said our typical good byes that take almost as long as the visit, he snuggled in, determined not to leave. I can remember the tears in my eyes as he was held. I did not want him to go.

This is how our worship leader described how our Lord feels when we come to Him. I will never forget her words.

It was then that I realized I do have a garden. It is my driveway where I walk laps. It is the place of prayer. It is where, when I am having a tough day I go to even if I have already walked that day. It is where, when I walk out the door, I begin to talk with Jesus.

What does your garden look like?

Roses, Dandelions and Purpose

Published on by marycatherinethomasLeave a comment

In San Diego our yard was rock with a few grains of sand in between. Nothing grew in it. We had grass for a few months which turned to dirt and dust by late spring. Growing up in lush northwestern Pennsylvania where the greens were deep and fragrant, the lack of yard was distressing to me. Much of our property was filled with decking, so after many years I started to grow roses in containers on my deck. They were my joy and a pop of color. My husband loves red roses, so I had one of those. I love pink roses, my oldest likes white roses, and my youngest at the time loved yellow roses. I had a rose bush for each of us. I planted a mini rosebush and it flourished in the container. I prayed for each person while I watered the plant . It was my quiet time and my time to connect with something growing. I loved my deck garden, it was filled with many plants besides the roses. Here, my roses are delights for our resident deer. I see them start to bloom and the next day, they are gone, leaves, buds, thorns, all gone. I have once more started container roses so I can enjoy them. I place them on my front porch. I figure if deer want to climb the steps to the roses, then they are welcome to have them. So far, so good.

Last week I went outside and saw my first dandelion of the year. I know, to many they are a reason to grumble. Living rural as we do, dandelions are free to bloom. I smile when I see dandelions. I want to pick them. Yes, inside me hides a five year old girl.

Dandelions are the military child’s flower. They were designated that as dandelions grow everywhere. We had them in our yard in Norfolk, in Yokohama, Japan and in Nagai, Japan. Our yard was filled with them in Bangor, Me and Winter Harbor, Me. They even flourished in the rocky soil in San Diego. Dandelions represent military children because they too, flourish all over the world. I love that illustration.

Reflecting on the dandelion and the rose I wondered what the lesson would be. Roses are normally planted in a garden. In a row. They are orderly and beautiful. The fragrance is lovely, and they make gorgeous arrangements. They have their place and they grow in their boundaries.

Dandelions grow anywhere they can. The only dandelion bouquets you display come from the grimy hands of a young child who had pulled the dandelions up with their roots. The face of the child is what makes the dandelions precious.

In serving the Lord should we be roses or dandelions? Do we present our life in a crystal vase filled with roses and baby’s breath, or do we present ourselves with our roots showing, dandelions wilting and grimy hands and faces?

 “Remember: A stingy planter gets a stingy crop; a lavish planter gets a lavish crop. I want each of you to take plenty of time to think it over, and make up your own mind what you will give. That will protect you against sob stories and arm-twisting. God loves it when the giver delights in the giving.” II Corinthians 9:6-7 (the Message)

What’s Up With the Roses? Part 3 Caught in the Brambles No More

Published on by marycatherinethomas2 Comments

The last time my granddaughter was visiting we took a walk.  We often take walks when we are together.  Walking down our steep road, she said she wanted to go see our creek. It flows through our property in our woods; our grandchildren love to play by it. 

As we veered off the road, I told her to be careful of the brambles.   She didn’t understand at first, so I told her that brambles were the thorny branches of the wild roses that grow on our property. 

Walking forward she learned what brambles were.  I tried to clear the path, but with each step she landed deeper into the mass of thorny bushes. She finally threw up her arms pleading with me to pick her up.  I leaned down, scooped her up, turned and gently tossed her up the hill where she landed on her feet.  The conversation back to the house was filled with her dislike of brambles.

How often in our lives do we start heading to a destination only to find ourselves caught in a pile of brambles?  We eventually throw our hands up, pleading with God to lift us from the thorns. He is faithful and removes what is keeping us tangled up.  But, our Lord, unlike this Grandmother, will gently pick you up, and lay us beside still waters to hear His voice and heal.   

Psalm 23:2-4, “He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams. 3 He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths,   bringing honor to his name. 4 Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.” (New Living Translation)

What’s Up with the Roses? Part 2 He’s Called Me Rose

Published on by marycatherinethomasLeave a comment

Our home in San Diego overlooked a major freeway.  There was noise from the vehicles day and night. Right beside the freeway was a landfill. When we first bought our house, the landfill was a site for bulldozers and heavy equipment.  In a few years it looked almost idyllic sitting beside the never-ending traffic.  Where bulldozers once roamed the land, grasses grew, along with the California poppies in the spring. 

Our family room looked out on the freeway and frequently I would stand at the window watching the vehicles whizzing down the road.   This is also the room where I would have my quiet time and prayer time. 

I had a season in my life while living there, that I struggled with my first name, Mary.   That sounds silly, I know, but it was a real struggle for me.

I was raised a Catholic, and my parents named me after my aunt Jane.  She too was Mary Catherine, but my Mom once told me they called her Jane because she was a plain Jane.  Not a winning argument in me liking the name Mary. 

My family called me Cathi.  I was used to that.  I like it.  I had a rude awakening when I entered first grade though.  Being a Catholic school there were many Mary’s.  Mary Kay, Mary Ann, Mary Beth, you get the idea.  Each of the girls was called by their full name.  I was just called Mary.  I dislike being called Mary.  It’s a beautiful name, and I am finally beginning to like it, but I prefer my full name or Cathi.  

It was during this season in 1991 when I was wrestling with God about my name.  Often during my quiet time I would hear Him speak to me about my name.  I wrote in my journal one day in October of that year that I need to accept that I am Mary.  I needed to accept who I am.  I continued to write in my journal the following: “You need to accept who you are. Just as you are a Rose- you are a wild one, not cultivated and pruned and restricted.  You are an individual”.  I remember after writing this looking out the family room window imagining a wild rose growing on the hillside of the landfill.   A wild rose that no one really notices, but is there.  I saw the rose as pink, I don’t know why. 

Recently I went back in my journals and saw this entry.  I went online and researched pink roses.  Wild roses are likely to be pink; they are a symbol of love and admiration, and a carrier of secrets.

So many years ago I heard about wild roses.  I had a deck full of cultivated roses, and I never thought of a wild rose.  Years ago our Lord was telling me that I may not be noticed, but He noticed me.  He loves me and He knows me. 

Isaiah 43:1b says, ““Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.”

I rest knowing that I am His. 

What’s Up With the Roses? Part 1 Background

Published on by marycatherinethomas6 Comments

Roses became a part of my life during our last few days living in Winter Harbor Maine. Below is the story of how that happened.

A group of ladies in Winter Harbor joined together each Tuesday morning for a Bible Study. We all lived transient lives, depending on the Navy to give us orders of where we would live and also let us know when it was time to retire.

Whenever one of us were retiring or changing duty stations, the girls in Bible Study would do what had become a traditional farewell gathering. Of course, we would eat (that’s a given), then we would each sign a book for the person leaving. There would be prayer for her and lots of tears and hugs. Parting is never easy, even when you know it is a part of the life you have chosen for yourself.

My going away party was no different. Brunch was served, book was signed and then the prayer time. One women had written a lovely note to me as she had felt God had given her. It talked about my life being a rose and that in our new life in San Diego I would blossom into what the Lord had planned for me. Pretty wonderful, right? I smiled, content in what I had heard. And then… there is always continuations, those three dots in your life, like waiting for a shoe to drop. The other shoe dropped shortly after that.

Another woman, while praying after the letter had been read cleared her throat and began speaking. I will never forget her words. She said, “And as a rose has many thorns for it’s beauty, there are many thorns awaiting you.”

Now, you would think that would deter me from lovingly following my husband cross country, a logical person would do so. Not me. Acts 21:11 says, “He came over, took Paul’s belt, and bound his own feet and hands with it. Then he said, “The Holy Spirit declares, ‘So shall the owner of this belt be bound by the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem and turned over to the Gentiles.’” (NLT) I had often wondered how Paul could continue his journey into Jerusalem, and yet he did.

The night of my going away brunch we went to a movie, I can’t remember what it was because I was thinking about Paul going into Jerusalem knowing what awaited him. I was still wrestling with what had been said to me earlier. In between the popcorn, candy and soft drinks I realized that although my feet and hands had not been bound, I was facing the unknown.

A few days later, we packed our U-Haul and started our journey. Our plan at that time was to go to San Diego, my husband do his tour on his destroyer, and he would get out and go to Bible College. Our plan was 7 years and we would head back to Maine. Proverbs 16:9 says, ” We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.” (NLT) Determine our steps He did. 28 years later we left San Diego.

Were there thorns awaiting me? Too many to count! Did I want to give up? Yes. Many times I found myself on my face pleading for God to remove things before me.

What I learned was strength, trust, prayer, and faith. Our God will never leave us. He is our constant source of strength.

May your day be filled with the goodness of our God.