The Miracle of the White Rose

It was winter of 2014. It was cold and everything was gray outside. My mood was gray too. I was having a hard time keeping my chin up. It was just one of those days where depression was trying to slink its way back into my heart and mind, and pull me under. I thought that maybe some cold fresh air would help me to feel better, so I went outside. That was depressing too. All of my beautiful rose bushes were pokey sticks. The hydrangea plants were wet brown sticks coming out of the ground.

Tall weeds and wild grass had helped itself to my flowerbeds. The wisteria was just a tangle of naked vines with no leaves and no flowers gnarled among the supports of the portico. I looked around and saw no flowers anywhere.

The wind had been harsh, and we had several frozen mornings in a row. I don’t know what I expected, but this barren garden was doing nothing to help ease my depression. Feeling lost and alone I started to feel sorry for myself too. It wasn’t that my life had all gone bad. It was just one of those days. I had woken up thinking about the baby I’d lost the previous year. It was one of those times I wanted to think about him. Usually I put it off when the thoughts came, because I knew the tears would soon follow. Every memory of that day came to me in vivid remembrance on this cold winter day.

We each had been told in our hearts that it was a boy, and agreed upon a name without ever speaking of it; he would be named after his father

I only carried him a few months, and I was filled with a strange combination of excitement and terror. At 44 years old, I had not thought the pregnancy possible. Yet I remembered that there had been this window of opportunity where I had not taken my hormones which regulated my periods. I was at a healthy weight and feeling great physically. Still it was a great surprise to us, and I knew my track record with pregnancies was not good. At 24 my pregnancies were considered high risk. How much greater would be the risk with this miracle conception at 44? So I told no one right away except my sweet husband. I had needed time to process.

I knew when we lost him: the baby. Emotionally and physically I felt it coming and cried in anguish as everything connected to this dream literally slipped away. I felt his sweet spirit say goodbye to me, and I wept harder. I was alone, and yet I wasn’t. The spirit of this baby boy had come to offer me a silent whisper of a kiss and then move on. “I love you; I am grateful for you Mother. You are so brave.” I heard those words clearly in my mind and heart.

Sometimes He asks us for a Broken Heart so that He may Heal us

I didn’t feel brave. Broken is how I felt. Utterly broken. Still I remember that I prayed with my whole soul and then I felt comforted by my Savior. He had heard my tears and had waited patiently for me to turn to Him. That’s how he works. He stands at the door and waits for us to get up the courage or desperation to knock. If you think of the old beautiful painting by Dicksons, He is on the other side of the door, but there is no handle. We must open the door and invite Him in.

Revelation 3:20 reads “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.“

He Waited for Me

So He waited for me to knock in prayer that sad, cold and lonely day in March of 2013. Then He put His perfect arms around me and I felt physically held by His love and perfect compassion. I remember that I fell asleep amidst the physical and emotional pain and the tears, curled up and feeling cocooned in His love. I whispered my goodbyes to this beautiful lost baby, and the lost hopes and dreams that went with him, and then I finally slept. Exhausted emotionally, spiritually and physically to my very core.

It was this memory that tugged at me as I walked outside among my garden. My garden that usually brought me peace and joy. Today I could only think about that lost baby. My lost son. I couldn’t be happy for him that he was in heaven with his siblings and others who loved him too. I knew in the depths of my soul that we would be reunited, and that we were going to be a forever family. But that felt too far off. I wanted him now. I was selfish in my pain, and I missed him. It was about me right now, and my loss.

I remember pulling my coat up tighter around my face because the rare cold wind was biting my cheeks and I felt them turning red. But I didn’t care though. There was no joy on this day. I felt utterly and completely alone, and I had been crying salty tears as I wandered aimlessly on our property. Why had I thought going outside would make me feel any better? It didn’t. The garden was bare of life.

The Gift

I turned around and walked past my rose bushes in the yard, on my way to the front door. Something caught my eye amidst the long grass that had grown so tall that it reached the lower branches of the rose-bush. What was it? A piece of trash, I thought. Maybe a white Styrofoam cup? I bent down against the wind and parted the tall wild grass to access what I had assumed was trash. But it wasn’t trash. It was a great treasure. There in that cocoon of grass, cradled gently by its warmth and protected from the wind and the frost, was a small, single and perfect white rose.

I gently picked it and turned away from the wind to admire my beautiful gift. Softly I felt the Spirit of the Holy Ghost come over me and whisper, “You are not alone. He is with you always, and loves you. This gift is for you from Him.” I wiped away the tears streaming down my cheeks and went into the house. It was perfect. Like His son, it was without blemish. The tiny pink dots were there looking like tiny angel kisses. Like my lost son it was perfect, pure and beautiful; a gift from God. I briefly thought that,  “God the Father and Mary had lost a son too”.

My Heart was Filled with Gratitude

I was incredibly grateful for that gift. These are pictures of the actual rose. It lifted my spirits and filled my heart with gratitude and joy. He is always there for us. His son died for us. He gave us all the gift of eternal life. So this Easter, I am remembering His gift of life to each of us and the resurrection that can come for me, for my family here on earth and my beautiful babies waiting for me in heaven. With this rose, I was given a precious and wonderful gift. Yet I had to go outside and look. I had to part the grass and extract it from its warm and protected bed. That is what we are asked to do: our part.

If we do our part, then He will do His. He is bound, and He has promised. Jesus Christ being perfect cannot break His promises as we so often do ours. How thankful I am for that cold winter’s day when I felt the love of my Savior with me as he once again tended and helped to heal my broken heart.

May you find peace in His love and in His arms this Easter.

Love,

Cynthia