My roses are just starting to come out from their winter hibernation. Their stems are growing thicker and strong. Their thorns are sharp and their little buds are about ready to form. In a couple more breaths, soon, I will have flowers offering their wonderful scent each time I pass by.
And I do stop to smell, each. I planted them years ago in many glorious colors: coral, salmon, fuchsia, white, red, lavender and gold. I love their variety and I delight in gathering them along with some fern, tying them together with curlique ribbons for gifts of home-grown bouquets, or a single double delight placed on the sink in the kitchen and bath, so lovely.
I was looking at their thorns, contemplating their points, their protection and wariness, marveling at God's wisdom. Keeping away birds, probably pesky bugs that would munch a bite or two, snails and slugs, and maybe my own hands from stealing a few. But as I was observing, I kept hearing God say,
"Contemplate the soft."
I sat with this, the soft, not sure what He was trying to help me see or to hear. I am a little dense at times.
"Contemplate the soft."
And then it started to bloom, slowly in its opening, His sweet scent and the aroma of God's beautiful message.
He is not found in the point, in the sharp, in the wary. He is not found in what keeps people and things away. He does not cover us with bars or even with tough skin. We are soft, if we allow ourselves to be. We are fragile and we tear, just as did Jesus. The beauty of His love is that it is free, accessible to everyone. It opens and draws us in to Him. It is gentle and beautiful and fragrant of grace, and accepting of all, colors. It is the center of His and all creation.
Contemplating the soft takes us to that fragile place, that place of love, where protection is no longer a part, as it must be given completely for the other, without hesitation or fear of the response. It is the absolute willingness to say,
"Here, I am for you, I hope you see some beauty. Take me, if you choose."
