Imprisoned Splendor

Breathing in the fragrance, I felt a rush of "dejavu".  I was immediately in the backyard garden of our German neighbors, the Gettmans.  Tall rows of the most beautiful big face roses you could ever imagine filled their fenced in yard.  As a five year old, I often accepted the invitation from Mrs. Gettman to come on over and be with her in the garden.  Ready with a smile and a hug for me, we took our time meandering through the bushes, she never hurried me up.  We would smell the various fragrances of the blossoms, and she would tell me the specific name of each. My favorite was the one that started out with a pinkish bud and then unfolded with rosy yellow, white leaves.  Its name is Peace, and to me, a picture of Mrs. Gettman.  But even in all its beauty, the rose still remains as imprisoned splendor.  .  .

I saw his name on my schedule, initially thinking that it was familiar, but not fully recalling anything specific.  Hearing my assistant voice about the young man in room 7 who was recovering from heroin addiction, I paid a little closer to the name.  Scrolling through my computer screen, the realization came to me on who that patient was.  It had been at least 4-5 years since I last saw him.  I was familiar with his whole family, and often had wondered what had become of him.  It's interesting to me that I frequently have these moments when I give thought to my patients, begin to wonder how they are doing, even often prayers for them, and then they appear on my schedule.  Strange as it sounds, for me I attribute it to one of those mysterious workings of God, that there is a reason they are brought before my mind. 

I walked into the room and immediately knew the grown up boy before me.  Now bearded and tall, I set my laptop down and opened my arms for him to give a hug.  He seemed to hold on to me like a life preserver.  I sat and listened as he told me of his journey into death and where he now has come.  Inwardly I was thanking God that this young man was here before me and still had opportunity to turn his life around.  I was compelled to encourage him with all I had to offer.  I realized then that he too represented the imprisoned splendor of human life that God has come to free. . . 

Sometimes, we long for this life of pain, misery, despair to end.  Christians hope for the soon appearance of their Savior.  But after that day, I came home grateful that there had been one more day in time.  I thanked God that He has been so patient, long suffering, and merciful in continuing to give just one more day to live.  I think I finally understood the heart of God that does not want any of his precious human beings to perish without knowing Him.  His desire is truly that all will come to know Him as their Savior.  He realizes the imprisoned splendor of His creation and created beings, and He longs to set them free. . . 

Mrs. Gettman knew that and tended a garden of imprisoned splendor. The roses held beauty in spite of the thorny stalks they grew upon.  Quietly and faithfully, she nurtured and lovingly cared for what had been given to her.  Maybe, that's my role too, to be grateful with one more day to garden for God's imprisoned splendor.