While on vacation, we left our car in a protected parking lot when we flew to our next destination. Upon our return, I climbed into the car and found a red rose wrapped in cellophane on the seat. I held it while we drove. The outside temperature was below 20 degrees. When we entered our motel, I cuddled my rose between a couple of pillows to protect it from the cold.
Once in our room, I placed the rose beside me as I sat on the bed. I saw more than a red rose. Symbolically, I saw the Rose of Christ. The red floral blossom gently spread it petals in a circle. Beautiful red petals. But wait – the pool of petals looked like a puddle of spilled-out blood. Red petals of a flower – red blood spilled from my Savior’s wounds. His blood always speaks of life – eternal life, not death.
I also looked at the green stem and leaves. They, too, symbolized life. Green is a color of life. Were there thorns on the stem? No, they had been cut off so not to stick me. However, the thorns on Jesus’ crown cut into His head. Those thorns painfully pierced the head of my Savior.
I checked to see if my rose needed water. No, the floral stem had been placed in a little vial of water. However, that was not the case for Jesus. While on the cross, He was thirsty. He was not given a drink of water. He was only given a sponge soaked in sour vinegar.
The following morning, I took the rose in the car with us. It rested on my lap as we traveled down the highway. Jesus walked the road to Golgotha. His wounded head was never held in the lap of a loved one. I took my rose into the restaurant with me when we stopped for lunch. The waitress commented on my flower. I wondered if I carried Jesus with me in such a way that others saw His presence in me.
Our next destination was a B&B where we stayed for several days. Since there was a bouquet of fresh flowers in our room, I nestled my rose among the various blossoms. It added beauty to the bouquet. Jesus mingled with men and women when He lived on the earth. He imparted love into their lives. He added beauty.
After a couple of days, I noticed that my rose had begun to droop its head. I guess it was telling me that its life was being extinguished. As Jesus died upon the cross, He bowed His head and cried, “It is finished!” I saw one or two dark red petals on the table beside the vase of flowers. Was I simply seeing floral petals or were they symbols of the tears shed by Jesus as death approached? I sensed that I was observing tears of liquid love, tears of blood – drops of blood rather than just dried floral petals.
My blooming rose died. The bleeding Rose of Christ died and rose again. Hallelujah!