The Rose that Blooms in Every Valley

Well, now, friend, come on out here off this front porch and wander with me down to this quiet patch of yard over here where the wildflowers are noddin’ like they know somethin’ real holy. Let’s stand a for a lil’ spell under this big ol’ oak tree that’s seen more whispered prayers than a revival tent. Sometimes you git to needin’ a place like this to be rememberin’ that Jesus ain’t just good. He’s real beautiful. Song of Solomon 2:1 says, “I am the Rose of Sharon, and the Lily of the Valley.” An’, friend, that there ain’t just no kind o’ poetry. That there’s the Lord introducin’ Himself as the One whose beauty outshines every beautiful bloomin’ flower in every field.

Now, I reckon you’ve already seen a rose or two in your day, but even the prurtiest one in the garden can’t begin hold a candle to Jesus in the garden o’ your soul. He’s the kind o’ beautiful that makes the sunrise look like it’s tryin’ its best. He’s the kind o’ lovely that makes the stars look like they’re blushin’. He’s the Rose of Sharon, the best of the best, the bloom that never gits to wiltin’, the fragrance that never gits to fadin’. If you’ll pull just one lil’ ol’ petal of His tender goodness off and tuck it into the jar of your memory, why, it’ll keep your whole heart smellin’ like His sweet grace for years.

And let me be tellin’ you, friend, there’s so much variety in His beauty. A rose pleases the eyes and the nose, but Jesus done satisfies every kind o’ sense of the soul. Your heart tastes His mercy. Your spirit hears His voice. Your mind sees His truth. Even the memory of His love is sweeter than a jar o’ peach preserves sittin’ on a sunny windowsill. Heaven itself ain’t got nothin’ that outshines Him. You could gather up every charm on earth, every mountain sunrise, every meadow full of lilies, every forest critter praisin’ in its own way, and it still wouldn’t even come close to describin’ Him.

Human words fall short. Earth‑born pictures fail. But the Rose of Sharon blooms on anyway, right in the middle of your valleys, right in the middle of your mess, right in the middle of days when you git to feelin’ flatter than a lil’ ol’ possum on a real bumpy, dirt road. Blessed Rose, come on an’ bloom inside my heart forever.

Father, You’re the Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley. Let Your beauty fill my soul and Your fragrance fill my days. Help me to see You in every valley, remember You in every season, and treasure You above every earthly thing. Bloom in my heart, Lord, and let Your loveliness be shapin’ my life. In Your precious name. Amen.

Now, goodness gracious alive, friend, as you walk back over toward the porch and brush the grass off your britches, carry this truth with you that Jesus ain’t just enough. He’s so much more than enough. He’s the Rose that blooms when everything else dries up. He’s the beauty that outlasts every storm. And when you let Him git to fillin’ up your heart, even the hoot owls way up in the trees and the rabbits hidin’ out in the brush would be noddin’ their lil’ ol’ heads like they are knowin’ that you are walkin’ with Somebody mighty special sho’-nuff’!

With joy,

Gwen