Let There Still Be Roses

 Dear Jesus,

 I read in Isaiah 55 these words:

 "So you will go out with joy, 

and be led forth in peace. 

The mountains and the hills will burst into singing before you 

and all the trees of the fields will clap their hands.

Large cypress trees will grow where thornbushes were.

 Myrtle trees will grow where weeds were.

 These things will be a reminder of the Lord's promise,

and this reminder will never be destroyed."

 I love roses on their thorny bushes. 

I love roses and can't think that heaven on earth could lack them.

 Oh, Jesus.......

Oh, please, Lord say there will still be roses!

Dear God,

It is the end of March in Oklahoma. My daffodills are blooming and the other bulbs sending up their spears to the blue sky. Soon the irises, the tulips, and the hyacinths will bloom. But this morning sleet is pelting the side of the house. The rain fell all night followed by freezing rain and then an hour or two of sleet, sounding like rice popping as it hits the windowpanes.

I ventured out into the cold wet wind to fill my empty bird feeders, grab the mail, and pick a bouquet with ice on it. The mud puddles and the water still standing from the last rain are frozen now. Snow is swirling out of the northwest - large soggy flakes. The weatherman predicts four to eight inches before the day is over. We have had these last of March snow storms before and they are soon gone and spring moves in with southern breezes and warmer days soon afterward.

In Louisiana, I was enthralled by the camellias that budded out on bushes and produced assorted orage, red, pink and salmon colored blossoms against shiny leather-like green leaves. What pretty flowers! I brought a potted one here to try my hand at raising them. Though roses grow well here, camellias don't stand a chance against the freezes we have. The lilacs I carried home from Michigan failed for want of enough cold.

Here we have the Indian Paintbrush, the Prairie Primrose, and the wild rose that trundles in great sagging sprays over pasture fences. Every place has its natural graces. Cardinals, cowbirds, chickadees, white-throated sparrows, downy woodpeckers, and nuthatches are busy outside my window like so many mobile flowers.

Brenna's little donkeys have eaten the center out of a round coil of hay. They seek the shelter of their open-sided shed on days like today. The cows and horses don't seen to mind the cold. They graze lazily along the wooded side of the orchard.

Winter clings and then is gone. Spring, summer, and autumn each hold allure and trials of their own. I love living where I get to experience all the seasons fully. Things change and new joys and challenges entertain us.

Thank you for the seasons, especially these that keep us hopeful.

Love you, Elece

Dear God,

The world is cold today. The sky is the gray of old modeling clay Mrs. Mason used to grudgingly let us play with during recess. I am weary of winter and wish for bright sunny skies, spring flowers, and green grass. I know it is coming and that it can't be far away. Spring always come when we almost lose hold of hope. Spring with evening rains, tree frog choruses, air that smells like damp dirt, moldy leaves, and old water.

I am anxious for the coming of the little breeze from the south that sings though he has no mouth. That breeze brings warm air and clear skies and makes the tulips, iris, and daffodils pop up like miracles from the ground.

Help me to hold out, God, to wait and be patient  for the spring to come.

Love you,
Elece