"What a pity flowers can utter no sound.
A singing rose,
A whispering violet,
A murmuring honeysuckle --
Oh, What a rare and exquisite miracle would these be!"
I don't think Mr. Beecher was listening, because mine DO speak.
Roses sing a song that praises their Creator for light and warmth of sunshine, gentle rains, the strength of branches that hold them high, for rich perfume the ascends like insence to the throne of God, for thorns. . .Yes, thorns. And the rose speaks and says, "Because of my thorn my strength is made perfect in weakness."
The violet whispers soft, and those who would hear bend their knee to listen. She is small and fragile, no branches for support, no hiding place from storms, no strong voice to warn against heavy, crushing footsteps. Yet in the crushing, her fragrance is released, but she is not broken. Slowly, she raises her head again and looks into the heavens and to the one who created her and whispers, "For you, Lord. Only for You!"
The honeysuckle murmurs as she hangs in a most unlikely place -- an old fence line, a dead tree, an unattended wall. So many of us, all alike, crowding in and pushing ever upwards towards the heavens. Yet, look! It is our numbers that make us strong, it is in many that our fragrance reaches far. It is each of our soft, murmuring song blended together that makes us strong like an angelic choir. We sing softly to those who build their nests with our vines. We cover and protect. We bloom, and raise our faces to the One who placed us here.
My flowers speak to me. Have you listened to yours lately?
What does your life speak today? A verse that came to mind for me is Psalm 27:4 --
One thing have I desired of the LORD, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD, and to inquire in his temple.