“I’d love to have the whole place swimming in roses”
~James Joyce, Ulysses

A few weeks ago in a moment of frivolity I scattered rose petals on the snowy landscape outside our house. You read this correctly. To some, It may seem an odd thing to do. But I had purchased pink roses the week before and had enjoyed their beautiful color and sweet fragrance for days. As they began to droop, they maintained their brilliance and invitation of hope so I could not bear to simply throw them in the trash. I looked at them for a long time before the thought came to me. I will remove the petals from their thorny stems and scatter them about on the mounds of snow that have been present for weeks with little sign of melting. At least until April. Or May. Hopefully, not June.

So that’s what I did. I pulled all the velvety, pink petals off and placed them in a bowl. Bundling up in my down coat, snow boots, my scarf firm around my neck, hat tugged down over my ears, gloves firmly placed on all ten digits, I headed out with my bowl of color. Walking down our sidewalk like a flower girl in the wedding aisle, I proceeded to scatter rose petals in our frozen tundra of a yard. Some were caught up right away in the wind and were carried away to who knows where. Others settled into the drifts and unique, one-of-a-kind formations of snowflakes. Pink now interrupted the monochromatic pallet of snow. It felt whimsical and somehow powerful to make this addition to the winter portrait.

Since then the landscape has returned to white as snow fell on snow. But on Saturday as I was out shoveling, I was given a wonderful surprise. As my shovel lifted and turned the light, fluffy gift of sky that had fallen all morning, I noticed in the underbelly of my shovel something colorful. Something…….pink. In my mind, the words of Mother Mary came to me. “How can this be?” More than two weeks later, these now frozen rose petals had remained their lovely, pink selves. They had simply nestled into the snowbank and rested quietly. I laughed and felt such joy at the sight of them.

For some reason, I imagined the rose petals freezing and turning brown, burrowing down into the snow till they became only another addition to the compost of leaves and needles and someday, melting snow. But no! These petals held on to their color despite freezing temperatures and blankets of snow. They remained true to their nature, their authentic ‘self’. They continued to inspire awe and delight and an appreciation of beauty. This is the work of the rose, isn’t it?

It has been a difficult winter for many. All across our nation and, in fact, the whole world the weather patterns are creating devastating and, also, beautiful scenes. Some places there is more snow than has been seen in years. Other places there is too much rain while still other landscapes are held in drought. I heard that over the weekend only one state in our country did not have snow. Florida. There are many things to ponder and wonder about in all this.

But one of the things that the rose petals taught me is that beauty has a power in it that will not be silenced. Each of us and the very core of Creation has that same vein of beauty at its very heart. Sometimes that beauty is covered up by debris, by hurt, by all manner of life experiences. And sometimes we take our beauty into hiding. This hiding is driven by many things. Lack of confidence. Grief. Fear. An unkind, untruthful word that once came our way.

But make no mistake about it. Our beauty, whatever that is, whatever it looks like, is needed by the world. This original beauty that was planted within us by the One who breathed us into being is our gift to offer. So, what is the beauty, the special color you have to present to the world? Have you uncovered it recently?

The snow continues to fall outside my window. It is lovely even after all these weeks, even as the inches continue to accumulate. The snow is offering its gift of white that will, in a few short weeks melt into the water that gives birth to green. As this happens and I rejoice in it,I will also know that sliding down into that watering of earth will be a little pink, a tell-tale reminder of a frivolous day in January and the roses that told their own story.