I remain relentlessly hopeful. Every time I travel for work or to visit my children, I ask my
husband to water my plants.
Yet, every time I return home, I find clear evidence that he only
remembered to water them the day before my return. He remains oblivious.
This time, when I returned, I found my beloved desert rose reduced to one-third of its original size.
We live in the desert, and this is only the fifth variety of plant in our home that has survived
not only the heat and the burning sun but also my lack of a green thumb.
I have felt proud of my little desert rose.
As I sadly—and I must admit, grumpily—removed all the dried leaves from its stems, I was stopped in my tracks by the discovery of two budding flowers.
Yes, the plant seemed to be dying, yet it managed to give birth to two beautiful roses.
I was motionless and confused for a few seconds, and then I sat down in awe. I knew God was about to reveal something to me.
First, this resilient plant reminded me of what motherhood and fatherhood often look like.
We must give up so much of ourselves—sometimes to the point of exhaustion—holding on to the little emotional and spiritual nourishment that remains, so we can provide for our children and
see them flourish.
I have often complained, questioned the Lord about why it must be so and prayed for a respite from the desert… while
He remains silent but ever present.
Next, I realized that this little plant, like all of nature, follows God’s will in faithfulness to its design, sacrificing itself to allow its offspring to exist and flourish.
We, too, are called to follow God’s will faithfully, created in His image.
Yet we are imperfect, wounded, and bound by
original sin and concupiscence.
However, Christ is the perfect man who “reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear.”1
He came to teach us what true love is: sacrificial love, agápē. 2
He presents Himself as “the way and the truth and the life.”3
His path culminated in the Cross, where He
was stripped of everything humanly possible, holding on to His life until He gave it all:
His very last drop of blood, His pain, the remnants of His wounded dignity and flesh, His final breath, and the fullness of His love in His last words.
He voluntarily stripped Himself of everything so that His children could flourish.
God reveals Himself in nature, and He revealed Himself in my beloved desert rose.
As I reflected on this phrase, it struck me: I am His beloved desert rose.
I am called to survive and thrive in the middle of the desert.
I am called to willingly strip away everything so that His Spirit might flourish in me.
This is the true form of freedom: to trust that He continues to be present, that He sustains our life amidst the drought and the heat.
Even when it feels like we are dying, and even when it hurts to let go of ourselves, He is ever present to bear blossoms of His Spirit within us.
He has come to free us so we, too, can reveal Him to the rest of the world.
You are also His beloved desert rose. Do not fear; be free, for He has come.
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1Gaudium et Spes, n. 22.
2From the greek ἀγάπη: the divine, unconditional and sacrificial love that God has for human kind. “In this way the love of God was revealed to us: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might have life through him.” (1 Jn 4:9)
3 Jn 14:6
