Like Flowers Before Thee

✢ Anni Ponder Evans ✢
Imagine with me that your heart is like a rose--a big, full rose with petal upon petal, soft and silky as anything ever was.

The color of your rose is entirely up to you, of course, because--after all--this is your heart, not mine. Choose perhaps the first color that comes to mind for your rose, or, better yet, think for a moment about the loveliest rose you’ve ever seen, and pick that color. Or maybe think awhile about what color might best represent you--there are so many colors a rose might be...your options are almost endless. Of course, you might settle on a classic: deep red, dusty pink, creamy yellow, or milky white. Then again, perhaps you’re more attracted to the ombre sort of rose--those with peachy middles that turn into pink tips, or maybe a brilliant and bold magenta, or a soft, subtle lavender. Again, I don’t have anything to urge about the color of your rose, so long as it’s one you like thinking about. For all I care, you could decide on something quite unnatural: an electric blue or shocking chartreuse. Just let it be a hue that truly suits you--the whole you, that is...the you that you have always been and always will be. And don’t worry if you find you’re struggling with this part. It would be perfectly fine to choose a classic red just because you don’t like exercises that have you assign meaning to something as arbitrary as color. My very long-winded point here is that your rose should be whatever color you choose simply because you have chosen it.
This rose of yours, unlike those we see in neatly manicured English gardens, has a special quality: it can open wide, exposing every last petal to the world, or close up tight like a startled sea anemone, at will. You see, our hearts know when there is danger, when someone comes toward us with ill-intent, and instinctively close up, closely guarding the most delicate interior petals. Conversely, when we sense that we are safe in the warm presence of someone or something that intends to do us great good, we unfold, exposing the outer, middle, and sometimes--if we really feel secure--the very center of our hearts. It is here we feel most alive, most hopeful, and most loved.

Now, I am not by any means an expert on horticulture of any kind, especially not roses. In fact, I’ve had a sort of aloof relationship with them for most of my life, and have preferred other, more approachable flowers like tulips and Gerbera daisies, for reasons I’m not sure I can describe. And so, it is with all humility that I admit to you that I really don’t know if actual roses have the ability to open and close at will, or to put it another way, to bloom and unbloom, whenever they choose. But I suspect that they do not. Perhaps some day I will meet a Rose Expert who will enlighten me on this point. But here, for our thought-experiment, it does not matter what real roses do and do not know how to do, because this rose of mine, that rose of yours, and the rose of the heart in everyone’s chest, all know how to bloom and unbloom at will. Or, at the very least, they have once known how, even if at present, they only stay shut.

And now we are getting to the point at which I can tell you about the pebbles. You see, each of us--when we are very young and perhaps live more regularly with fully-opened roses because we have yet to be deeply hurt, abandoned, betrayed, or disappointed--we experience some sort of painful encounter with another person, or perhaps an animal, and we feel as though suddenly, there is a sharp and pointy pebble placed deep among our interior petals, deep down toward the heart-of-our-heart. If we are fortunate enough to come from a loving, protective home, perhaps this First Pebble will be rather small in comparison to the enormous suffering experienced by children subject to abuse, neglect, or orphanship. However, a pebble is still a pebble, and when lodged deeply between two velvety petals, it is unmistakably painful and uncomfortable, so our dear roses do what instinct tells them will keep that awful experience from happening again: they simply close up around that sore place and vow not to be open to that sort of insult, injury, or trauma again.

“If I seal off the entry point,” our tender hearts reason, “it won’t hurt so badly the next time that happens, and not so many pebbles will get lodged in me.” You see, our rose-hearts do not have fingers with which to gingerly retrieve a pebble, and thus they believe they have no way of ridding themselves of it. Ah, but hold on, dear rose. I know a good Gardener who likes to work wonders with pebbles.

But first, let us explore a couple more points about these young, now hurting roses. One thing I ought to have mentioned before is that our roses can close off partial areas of their blossom if they wish. So, unlike the sea anemone, who is either open all around or else tightly shut, our rose-hearts may decide to seal off just one or two places, while keeping the other areas open, at least until they receive a pebble in those places also. And so, many of us go about with awkward, lopsided, rather lumpy roses that are open here and closed there, and have pebbles buried throughout all the closed places.

Another thing is that our roses never stop growing new exterior petals. Like rings within a tree, or layers of an onion, our hearts keep producing more and more petals as we journey on in this life. Thus, we have a much older, more ancient center, and a newer, more recent outer rim of petals that learn from the ones they are layered against whether or not they are to stretch wide and open, or clamp tightly around the next petals, creating a fortress of velvet, hoping that a new layer will soon be added and will offer the same protection. And it goes on like this until the day our life force vanishes, and our petals fall to the earth, ready for rebirth in the soil.

But hold on, I’m getting ahead of myself. What I really want to do is offer you a moment to think about your pebbles. Perhaps it would be a wise endeavor for you to consider what the worst ones are, and name them. This could be hard, and I’m not a therapist, so I won’t tell you I know what’s good for you, but I know from experience that naming the problem is half the battle. So go ahead. What are your worst hurts? What things are buried deepest within you? Just say them out loud. You don’t have to do anything about them now, if you don’t want to or don’t know what to do. Just say their name.

After some contemplation about our pebbles, the obvious question is how do we get them out? Of course, we want to be rid of anything that impedes our whole-hearted living, and it’s natural to want to remove them immediately. But matters of the heart are mysterious, and that’s why I can only point you to the Gardener, who opens roses in His time, and extracts pebbles when He’s ready.

Sometime, if you and I ever get the chance to meet over coffee, I would be glad to tell you the ways He has removed some of my pebbles. Those moments are among the most precious in my life, and I would love to share them with you. But, as we know, doors that once led to Narnia rarely do so again, so rather than tell you how our Lord has helped me, I’d rather share some practical wisdom that may help you invite the Gardener to begin His work on you (rather, continue, as I’m sure He has been tending to you all along).

One thing I would share is something I’m sure you’ve already guessed: that those of us who hold the pebbles very tightly--especially the early ones--experience so much more pain than if we didn’t squeeze quite so hard. Everyone knows that a fistful of gravel is quite painful when you clamp all your fingers shut, but if it’s held in an open hand, it does not hurt at all. So I encourage you to do whatever you can to relax your heart a bit. Go ahead and ask your heart what it needs to open up, just a skosh. And listen to what it says. This may look like deep breathing, or a long walk, or perhaps a good talk with an old friend. The kinder you are to yourself, the better. Remember that your rose was meant to be free and full, and that the Gardener will not rest until it is blooming in splendor.

Actually, I advise that you make breathing deeply a regular practice. My therapist is always saying, “Breathe.” And when I do, it’s amazing how much space in my chest is there, allowing my rose to blossom a little more. Our hearts are physically constricted when we hold our breath. They need room. So go ahead and take three or 12 deep, trusting breaths. Your whole body will appreciate this!

Another thing you probably already know is that those of us who follow Yeshua are required to do the deep work of forgiveness. This really comes into play here, when considering the pebbles in our roses. Part of why I think the Gardener does not instantly remove all of them is because He wants us first to make peace with our trespassors, as He has made peace with us.

I know it is much more easily said than done, this mystical forgiveness stuff. And sometimes it has to be done repeatedly. But I keep coming back to the image of Christ, stretched out on the cross, begging God to forgive those driving nails into his hands and feet. Surely, He did this as much for my benefit as for theirs--if He can offer them absolution as they were killing Him, I must follow His lead and begin to forgive my debtors as well.

There is much to be said about forgiveness, and helpful aids abound. I’ve been led on a couple of forgiveness ceremonies, and have taken to offering them to my friends as well. I think those sorts of intentional rituals are profound, and I encourage you to seriously consider pursuing a formal act of forgiveness for your most painful pebbles.

Finally, my dear friend, I urge you to ask the Gardener to light the next step. It may be finding a good therapist (I cannot recommend EMDR highly enough for dealing with painful memories and the PTSD that often accompanies them) who can help you sit with the pain caused by your pebbles and help you to open your rose until they can be extracted. Or perhaps you just need some time with Yeshua and He will do the work Himself. Make space for that. Open up your schedule a bit and do some writing about whatever your heart brings up. Let yourself weep if you can--tears are the blood of the soul, I always say, so blubber on. Don’t hold in a single tear.

If a painful memory comes up when you are not able to attend to it, tell your sweet heart that you are committed to doing the work of removing the pebbles, and be sure to jot down what has surfaced. Then, when you are safe and able to process the memory (again, if you can do this with a skilled therapist, it is so healing), find peace with it.

Maybe you could write your rose a letter, and tell it how thankful you are for holding all your memories. Perhaps it needs to hear that you are going to listen to it, and that it is welcome to share its deep mysteries with you. I have a feeling your rose would like that, actually. Also, I don’t think anyone would judge you if you gave your rose a (loving) nickname.

Whatever you do, may you be led by the Spirit, who guides us to the next right step if we are willing. By the Grace of God, we are all being grown into a glorious garden for His own delight!

Lord Yeshua, may our hearts open more and more fully, as the song says, like flowers before Thee. Amen.
✢ Anni Ponder Evans ✢
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1 Comment


Mariann - August 19th, 2023 at 8:33am

Beautiful! May we all be open to the Lord!