The Rose

My Mom passed away earlier this year.

Strained, seemingly from the beginning, I can't remember a time ever truly being connected with my mother. She was in every way a stranger to me. Without a vital maternal connection, I learned early in life that no one was worthy of my trust and as a result lived terribly disfigured emotionally through most of my twenty somethings.

It has been my wife of 32 years who through the tumultuous ride with a husband who could achieve almost anything professionally and yet very little relationally, saw me through to better days. Her stubborn example of trust in God and how that transformed her to trust others has been a powerful lesson learned - again and again.

Crystal often has jovially remarked; 'Dan, you would have killed most women by now!' She's right of course about how incredibly perfect she's been for the wound I carried.

The mother that was being memorialized by her friends was not the mother I knew. They spoke of her loving ways and one after another would laud her fidelity towards those in her life. 'She would give you the shirt off her back' one person said.

Like I said; a stranger.

Each of her children, there are six of us, received a rose in her memory as we were seated. It struck me as odd that the rose in my hand had thorns. Serious long thorns. My immediate mental response was how careless the person was who came up with this genius idea.

But God. Those two words when used together, contrast what you know against Who He is.

On the front seat of the sanctuary and in the midst of people extolling the life of my mother He spoke. As if sitting next to me and leaning over into my ear He explained the rose.

He talked to me how I only knew my mother during the thorn part of her life while others knew her during the blossoming years. In that seat. At that moment. God created an intersection for me to choose.

David said to the Lord in Psalm 131; 'I do not concern myself with great matters, nor with things too profound for me.'

The rose was all I needed that day to lay at rest the years of thorn and to embrace that on a day in which I was not present and without my permission; my mom blossomed.

With His observation complete God rested His case. He left me there as quietly as He arrived. Would I know my mother from a different place and though a stranger to me, certainly and obviously - not a stranger to others, would I allow her to be more than a thorn?

A few days from now. Toledo will set aside an evening to honor the unhoused who died this past year. Once again, I've been asked to say a few words on behalf of those who passed away.

I think about the thorns in their lives and the thorns potentially they've been to others and how they blossomed apart from family or loved ones - which will be the essence of my few shared moments with those who gather next week.

Here's today's question; 'What about you?'

Are you blossoming where once there were thorns? Do the folks who knew you as thorns have the opportunity to understand the eventuality associated with migrating with God?

Becuase eventually there will be a rose.

Too many people who are referred to as a late bloomer carry with them a quiet guilt for the years of thorn. Don't be that person.

Perhaps your story parallels mine today. What about you? Find a moment with God and let Him lean into your ear. Allow Him to reconcile the balance - He will.

He did for me - the very day my mom became a rose.

Making a dent.
Dan