Bloggers spend a lot of time blogging. We spend a lot of time reading news andreading blogs, and we spend a lot of time thinking.

Perhaps too much at times.

And then, occasionally, something happens to put a bit of perspective back into the mix.

Over the weekend, I encountered a minormiracle. One which, after a bit more reflection, I’ve decided to share.

The Random Father (of whom I speak little but think a great deal) recently retired from the practice of law and moved from his home in a fairly populated part of Southern California to a much smaller town(still in California, but not nearly so easily reached). Part of this move involved the elimination of many “things” accumulated during a lifetime of law practice andover a decadein the same house (common in many places, unusual in California).

Among the items left behind were the hundred-or-so rosebushes The Random Father had planted and tended during his time at the house. A few went with him, but most remained behind. At Christmas, several of those rose busheswere brought to my house for planting. Due to an unfortunate (and long lasting) wrist injury, I could not plant them at the time, so I stuck them in buckets of water, left them in the garage …. and promptly forgot them.

Flash forward six weeks.

Saturday morning, while on an unrelated errand, Iremembered the roses. Six weeks. In the garage. In the dark, cold garage. No sunlight. No fresh air. No fresh water.

Not a chance.

Ten years my father tended those roses, and I didn’t keep them alive ten weeks.

Sick to my stomach at the mistake, I headed to the garage. As the door rolled up, I tried to think of some positive spin I could put on the error. Ifound none.

What I did find was living roses.

Somehow, half a dozen rose bushes managed to brave the dark, the cold and what was perhaps the most stagnant water I’ve ever seen or smelled for six weeks – most of them even putting out new growth buds – despite being completely forgotten and ignored. And this after having been dug out of the ground and left in The Random Mother’s garage for almost a month before Christmas.

I know a thing or two about roses, and while they’re hardy, there’s no logical reason why those roses survived. There is, however, a good reason – though it took me a little time to figure it out.

The roses are evidence and parable all in one.

Evidence that life depends upon water, food and light, but also on something beyond mere process and input-output ratios. We’ll come back to this shortly.

I asked for those roses because they remind me of The Random Father. They were – and are – important to him, and they are important to me. Roses are among the things he and I share, perhaps in part because he taught me so much about them when I was small. Had these died, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world – andI wouldn’t have made a Grecian Tragedy of the affair. I would, however, have regretted the loss much more than I’d like to admit.

The wrist injury that prevented me from planting them at Christmas finally healed only a week ago. Before that time, I couldn’t have put the roses in the ground if I’d wanted to – which could potentially explain my strange failure to remember them at all. Once recovered, I remembered – but not in time to do anything at all under ordinary circumstances.

And yet, the roses were still there, and – inexplicably – still alive.

Inexplicably, until you factor in the will of God.

But why, one might ask, would God care about half a dozen rose bushes I forgot in the garage? Why would He bother to keep them alive when my own stewardship failed?

While planting the roses on Sunday (no, I didn’t let any more moss – or scum – grow under my feet or those of the roses) I thanked the LORD for their survival. I appreciated the grace that kept them alive despite my neglect and forgetful nature. Iwondered at His mercy,which saved me from having to admit – to the Random Father and to myself – that I’d failed. I thanked Him for the second chance His intervention offered, and I resolved to try harder to behave as a worthy steward of the many gifts and obligations with which He has blessed my life.

A lot to take away from a few rose bushes – and yet, there’s more to come.

Because upon further reflection, Irecognize thelarger parable. God’s grace does not depend upon our actions. We cannot kill his love and mercy with our weakness or neglect. He abides indark places, offering life and hope even where there should be none, waiting for us to remember and return to Him. And when we emerge from the forgetful, self-absorbed world in which our physical bodies live and realize (or remember)-with shock, regret and fear – the God we have ignored, forgotten or never known, He does not say “I told you so.” He does not laugh at our despair or punish us for ignoring Him. Instead, He offers miracles. He giveslife wherewe expected and deserved only death.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen, but every now and again God offers up amiracle as evidence in support of that faith. Not all eyes can seethem clearly or recognize them for what they are. Somewould consider the roses a biological anomaly, a “coincidence” – a fluke. They would be the poorer for it.

But as for me and my house, we will recognize and appreciate the work – and the forgiveness -of the LORD.

Trackposted to Pirate’s Cove, Renaissance Blogger, third world county, Conservative Cat, Jo’s Cafe, and Adam’s Blog, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

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