The very first roses I bought absolutely took my breath away. They were so beautiful to me.
I smelled them before I even saw them sitting on a shelf at a big orange box store.
They were a completely irresponsible purchase at the time. I had no idea how to actually grow roses, but I decided that if I could get a discount, I was going to try.
A few minutes later, I managed to walk away with four beautiful purple rose bushes for 20% off.
I had a dream and a great desire to help these plants succeed.
What I lacked in knowledge, I thought I could make up for with passion.
So I got to work, immediately planting them and researching how to best care for these beauties.
Unfortunately, they were absolutely ravaged by black spot. Due to my limited knowledge, I had also planted them on the north side of my house by a fence.
So sunlight, one of the primary components for growing healthy roses, was missing.
No matter what I tried, it felt hopeless. Not only did they never bloom again, but they constantly looked terrible.
By the end of the year, I ended up removing them, devastated by what felt like my failure.
Since that time, I have planted and grown dozens of healthy rose bushes. I have since learned what I could have done differently and why those particular roses didn’t work.
Time and trial brought me the wisdom I needed for them to succeed.
Which is a bittersweet comfort.
The “should haves” and “could haves” can torment us when that’s how we learn.
Recently, while reviewing my rose collection, I realized that I had not bought many purple roses since that original failure.
Which is funny, because purple is my favorite color.
Was this a subconscious avoidance of what I perceived to be a doomed venture? Or was my heart simply unwilling to risk again?
Honestly, I’m not really sure.
But I do know that we, as humans, hate to fail. Especially when we feel like we have done everything we knew to do. When we have given it our all and still come up empty. That kind of experience doesn’t just make us question our decisions; it makes us question our identity and our value.
These failures whisper to us, “You are not enough.”
The child who walks away from the Lord after a lifetime of passionate prayers and diligent teaching.
The business that never seems to pay the bills.
The betrayal that tears a heart in two.
All of these ventures can begin with the seed of a dream, only to end up covered in black spot and failure.
Then we stand looking back, seeing everything that could have been done differently. A tender plant that maybe just needed more light, yet our limitations kept us from knowing where to place it.
Sometimes our passion and our love turn out not to be enough.
And that is devastating.
But maybe the greater truth is this: We were never meant to be enough. We were never meant to possess all the wisdom we would need.
But in that moment, when we discover that we are indeed lacking, the question we have to ask is this: Is that a judgment… or is it relief?
Like a child, I come to my Father broken and bleeding.
Needing the care and comfort of Someone greater than myself.
This desperate display of need doesn’t repel the Lord. It draws Him closer. He brings comfort. He brings hope.
The wisdom I lack, He delights to provide through His very presence.
“In desperation, I turned to heaven
And spoke Your name into the night.
Then through the darkness, Your loving-kindness
Tore through the shadows of my soul.
The work is finished, the end is written
Jesus Christ, my living hope.”
-Phil Wickham, Living Hope
As I allow the Holy Spirit to surround me and the work of the cross to comfort me, I begin to understand that grace is what I need.
Not more knowledge or wisdom.
Not blame or regret.
Death is not our future. Hope is
Hope that is found when we allow ourselves to be held.
With love and hope,
Lacey Steel
