~ A story of true love.....it all begins with a small red flower - a rose ~
Once upon a time, there lived a kind old man who loved nothing more than his garden. There were flowers of all sorts - daisies, peonies, daffodils, geraniums, bluebells, lilies, poppies, sunflowers, chrysanthemums and roses of every hue and kind. But what the old man loved the most was a rose, red with glowing joy and alluring beauty. Everyone in the neighborhood praised her; children loved playing around her, young men and women who walked by would gently stroke the edges of her petals with admiration, some even wrote her quatrains and choruses. Her life was perfect....a thorn, a fallen leaf, an escaped petal, a drop of morning dew - everything, flawless. However, perfection was never a wall of protection.......
........the rose, she was conquered by a nasty swarm of pests - a flower's worst enemy, a floral's grave of misery. The poor flower soon became a nest for those grotesque little monsters, her petals on which they chewed greedily every day were no longer the emblem of beauty. No one would look at her; children spat at the sight of her hideousness, young men and women who walked by would sneer and mock at her withered body, some even trampled over her. However, the old man's love for her never ceased. He gave her all his tender, love and care; he prayed day and night, hoping that someday she would be healed.
One rainy night, a lightning flashed from the sky and struck the old man's garden. Immediately, the old man shot off his bed, stumbled into the dark corridor, rushed down the stairs, ran out to his garden.....and to his greatest dismay, the bolt of lightning had left the rose in wisps of grey smoke, the grass around her scorched and charred. The old man wept, sobbed, cried......but he knew tears could never bring back one's life.
The End
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My grandpa told me this story, not in remembrance of a wilted rose in his garden, but in remembrance of my grandma. He loved her in ways that none of us could have understood. The depth of the ocean would merely be an inch when measured to my grandpa's love for her, and the desert would merely be a grain of sand when compared to the unbreakable bond between them. They shared the same piece of happiness, and the same barrel of pain; the same strand of kindness, faith, hope and love.
And I, who had refused to believe in true love, believed it anyway. For I saw love.....love that was ever so true and pure, love that could only come from our God. My grandpa learnt to love unconditionally, unselfishly, humbly and patiently......but most of all, he learnt to give all the love he could have had for anyone to his one and only - my grandma.
Yes, she is in heaven now! In heaven, in a garden of roses, in eternity, with God. :)
