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The Rose

There once was a beautiful, wise and courageous woman,
the daughter of a wise and wealthy father.  Her favorite pastime
was to tend her rose garden, which was well-known for the
beauty of form and size and scent of its roses.  A day came
when she plucked, from among these most beautiful and
perfect roses, the most perfect rose.  Its shape and the
softness of its petals brought to mind all the beautiful things
in the world.  Its scent was strong and perfect, seeming to
lift cares from a troubled mind.  She carried her rose with her
into the streets of the city in which she lived, wishing to share
such bounty with all her friends, her neighbors, and any
strangers she might meet.  Everyone loved the rose, except
for a few who were envious of its perfection.  These people
surrounded the wise and beautiful woman, and demanded
the rose of her.  With a gentle smile, she handed the rose
to the most violent among them.  They took the beautiful
rose, perfect in form and scent, and viciously tore at it,
ripping it apart with their hands, stomping on it with their
feet, wishing to eliminate it entirely.  The wise and beautiful
woman stood to the side, watching with her wise and gentle
smile, now seeming to be a trifle sadder for the solitary tear
that slid down her cheek.  When the rage of the mob was
ended, all stood quiet, as though stunned.  The wise and
beautiful woman stepped forward and quietly said, "Now,
smell your hands, smell the scent of the perfect rose which
you have released for all to enjoy."  Indeed, the scent was
even stronger now, even seemingly more perfect.  It wafted
on a gentle breeze throughout the city.  The mob, ashamed,
went their ways, and the wise and beautiful woman went
home to tend her garden.

That rose is Christ.

 

©1999, Kevin P. Edgecomb