PRAIRIE ROSE – Martha Toews Anderson

Harvesting was in full swing so I drove to the field where my husband was at work to take pictures of the combines in operation. As I walked through the freshly-cut grain field I spotted two red roses like gems hidden in the golden stubble. Though this was late in the season, the tall wheat stocks had shielded the blooms from direct sun that would otherwise have faded their deep-rose colour. Their proximity to the ground had protected them from getting chewed up by the teeth of the combine.

As I paused to admire them and reserve their beauty on film, I contemplated the purpose for which the Creator caused this tiny bush to blossom where until a few minutes ago it was hidden from view by the crop. Certainly it is the Creator’s purpose for a plant to bloom and produce seed after its kind. But why in a spot where no one would have delighted in their beauty if I had not happened along? Did God tuck these little flowers here just for me to discover and enjoy?

I thought of the myriads of flowers that bloom on forest floors or tucked away in crevices where no human eye ever sees them. For whom is their beauty displayed? As I ponder the reason, the words of Sir Isaac Watts came to mind. “There’s not a plant or flower below, but makes Thy glory known.” True, God delights in His creation and He placed them there to bloom for His glory. He derives pleasure out of the beauty He has made as He did when He created the world and proclaimed it good. His angels see it and praise Him. The devil’s troops observe God’s handiwork and realize that despite all their efforts to thwart God’s purposes, the splendour of His creation continues. Nothing good is ever lost. Standing there in the sun-soaked field, I prayed that God would keep me faithful in whatever purpose He has for me.

All this came back to me much later while flipping through a pile of old and faded clippings that had been passed on it me. I came across a poem by an unknown author that brought back the memory of my prayer that day when I stood in the stubble admiring the roses.

“Father, where shall I work today
And my love flowed warm and free
Then He pointed out a tiny spot
And said, “Tend that for me.”
“Why, no one would ever see
No matter how well my work was done,
Not that little place for me.”
And the word He spoke, it was not stern
He answered me tenderly,
“Ah, little one, search that heart of yours,
Are you working for them or me?
Nazareth was a little place,
And so was Calvary.”