The Reddest Rose
Copyright 2005 by Jon Gill


When youth gave way to godly maturation
I stood there in the greatest admiration
Within the greatest garden ever known
My choice of one fine flower to take home
I asked my family's Gardener for advice
On which of His pure blossoms would look nice
Upon the sturdy hearth that I was making
And that no ordinary one would I be taking
I told him what I liked and what I wanted
And that some scents before had left me haunted
That in my youth I'd sown inferior seeds
Which blossomed into stagnant, choking weeds
And now I'd need His help for me to see
Which blossom was the perfect one for me.

He showed me through His all-inclusive garden
Its beauty was the kind you could take heart in
With flowers of every kind grown everywhere
Cultivated with the greatest care
And though the choices were all very fine
I knew that none of these ones would be mine
Their colors did not truly catch my eye
Enough to make me stop as I walked by.

My hope was quickly fading, getting harder
But I owe thanks to the attentive Gardener
Who noticed that I was not satisfied
With any of the blossoms I had eyed
He led me past the rows and toward a door
I had not even noticed it before
He said it led into a private room
Where He had a special one in bloom;
He warned me sternly that this was His prize
And that it was far more worthy than my eyes
“To see this flower is a privilege indeed
For this was grown from My own private seed
Do not pick it from its soil there
Unless you think you're ready for its care.”

I took His words to heart for quite a while
I did not want to enter carrying guile
But I knew my answer was behind this door
Inside was all I had been looking for
It was time to follow after what I needed
And through the greenhouse door I now proceeded
Anticipation grew with my round eyes
As I witnessed what the Gardener called His Prize:

On a stand in the center of the room
Was a single rose in vibrant, crimson bloom
The fullest rose that I had ever seen
The reddest rose that there had ever been.

I held the breath that it had yet to take
And all the other flowers seemed but fakes
I told the Gardener, this was what I chose
Never shifting my gaze from the rose
He took my hand in His so lovingly
And gently plucked the rose to give to me
With shaking hands, the finest of the fine
Was now, the Gardener said, forever mine
To have and hold and ever enjoy the smell
The rose that the very Gardener guarded well
He gave me all the things I would require
To ensure the perfect blossom would not tire
Living water, food from the Master’s table
He told me that He trusted I was able
And as gently as He'd told me when we started
He let it go, and with these words departed:

“Take care, my son, and keep her safe from harm
Keep her well upon a hearth that's warm
For I've seen all, and this is what I've seen:
She's the reddest rose that there has ever been.”


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