Enlarge ImageHe wasn’t after fame or fortune, but was just a man driven by a need he didn’t understand or question. Only God knew its purpose.
Nothing annoyed Homer Phillips more than having someone messing with his garden. Lately he’d been annoyed a lot, and he was not a man to get annoyed easily. Having to pay for the ugly eight-foot tall chain link fence that now surrounded his back yard garden didn’t mellow him out any either, especially since it didn’t even slow down the intruder or intruders.
Homer grew roses in his garden, and they weren’t just ordinary roses. You didn’t have to be an expert to see they were prize-winning roses. He’d spent all the years of his life crossbreeding different varieties to create the roses he so carefully tended now, but no one in the rose breeding world had ever heard of him. He’d never entered a contest or joined a rose club, and although his roses could easily have taken the top prizes, no one was ever given the opportunity to judge them. He wasn’t after fame or fortune, but was just a man driven by a need he didn’t understand or question.
The Phillips family had been quietly breeding roses for eighteen generations or longer. No one in the family was sure when it started or why. Sons took over where fathers left off. The work went on for centuries, until now that is. None of Homer’s sons showed any interest in continuing the family tradition, and Homer was an only child. It was up to him to finish what his ancestors had begun, and time was running out. His wife of fifty years had recently passed on, leaving him alone in the family home, and he knew his own life was close to over.
Homer looked carefully around his garden as he began his morning’s work. His anger began to build as he found small signs that someone had been in the garden since he left it last. Like always, it was just small things. The hand trowel he’d left on the potting bench was moved and several pots with cuttings had been turned slightly. No damage was done, but he worried nevertheless. Countless years of work could easily be lost.
He thought about calling the police but put the thought aside when he recalled the last time he’d done that. The officer politely pointed out that his memory probably wasn’t as good as it used to be and that there didn’t seem to be any damage done or even any real evidence anyone had been there. He was still smiling when he told Homer the police had more important things to do, and it was the third time in just a few weeks he’d been called out there; it was very clear he considered it a nuisance call.
Homer’s eyes were drawn to the cuttings he’d carefully transplanted the previous day. The flat had been moved slightly, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. The plants were too large for only one day’s growth. He carefully removed a plant to examine the root growth, then replaced it with equal care. Those plants had to be at least a week and a half old, he concluded. He felt dizzy as he sat down in the potting bench chair to think.
His first thought was that his mind was going and he’d lost track of time, until he checked his logbook. His last entry matched up with the date on the flat. He picked up the portable phone he kept with him and called the number for date and time. The recorded message confirmed that only one day had passed. He knew there must be an explanation, but it was beyond his reach for the moment. Regardless of the cause, those cuttings were ready for transplanting to pots. He busied himself with the job to be done and pushed the mystery to the back of his mind.
***
It wasn’t to be the last time strange things happened in his garden. Seeds from the flowers he’d pollinated sprouted in a single day and produced blossoms for more pollination in only weeks instead of an entire season of growth. Many years of work were accomplished in only a few seasons and the results were astounding. Never in man’s lifetime had roses such as these grew upon this earth.
Homer ignored the signs of intrusion he saw daily and concentrated on keeping up with his work. A voice in the back of his mind told him the intrusions were what caused his work to go so swiftly. He listened, but he didn’t have time it give it much thought, although he stopped getting angry when he saw signs someone had been in his garden. His goal was as simple as it was almost impossible. To create and propagate the perfect rose.
It would be an everbearing bush rose with blooms bigger than the largest hybrid Tea rose. Each bloom would be at least four inches across with the classic Tea rose shape. The bush would be as compact and heavier producing than the best Grandiflora rose and the range of colors and shades would go beyond any rose species known and include the elusive blue. But most importantly, he would bring back the original sweet fragrance of the wild roses it evolved from. The scent that graced the original Garden of Eden would once again bless the world with its deliciously tranquilizing aroma.
***
Several more seasons went by as Homer carefully performed his craft, and the results were there to witness. The largest blooms and the wide range of colors that he’d worked for. The perfectly shaped, heavy bearing bushes with the powerfully intoxicating rose scent filling the garden air. Each mother plant was almost mature enough to provide the cuttings necessary for propagation. Only one rose was still to open, the elusive blue. It was only a matter of days before his work would be done, that is if the blue rose blossomed as he hoped and met his standards.
Homer was up early the following morning in anticipation of the blue rose being in bloom. The presence of the stranger in his garden didn’t surprise him and he felt no anger towards this being, only curiosity. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before the intruder showed up to share the results of their obviously common goal. The questions pushed to the back of his mind would soon be answered.
"Who are you and why have you helped me with the roses?" He asked. "I know you’ve been coming here every night for years, and I’m glad you finally showed yourself."
"I’ll answer all of your questions in a few minutes, Homer. Come and witness the results of generations of work by your ancestors, the work which you have finished."
He walked over and stood beside his visitor; their eyes were focused on the first of the blue rose buds to open. There were still hundreds of smaller buds that would cover the bush with roses within a few days. The greatest feeling of satisfaction he ever felt came over him as he moved closer to look at the first true blue rose the world had known. It was at least five inches across and perfectly shaped. Its color was a deep blue. From that color he would be able to breed roses in all shades of blue and other colors that have never been seen on a rose. Even before he bent to smell its sweet perfume he knew its scent was the strongest and sweetest of any rose he’d created. His life’s work was complete.
He turned to his visitor and smiled. He knew his visitor wasn’t of this earth, but he felt no fear, only a feeling of peaceful satisfaction and a comfort in being with him. "Beautiful isn’t it? It makes me feel that my life’s work has been worthwhile. Can I get you a cup of tea or something before we sit down to talk?"
"That’s kind of you, Homer. A cup of tea would be nice. I’ll clear a spot at the potting table where we can admire the roses with our tea while we talk."
Homer returned shortly with the tea and they sat down. "I know you’ve been here often. Who are you and why have you used your magic to make this possible?"
"My name is Aaron, and it wasn’t my magic that made this all possible. It was your magic with roses. I asked the Creator to accelerate the plant growth of your seedlings and cuttings so that you could finish before your time on earth was over. The rest was all the results of your hard work and genius." He paused a moment then asked, "Do you know the history of your family’s work with roses?"
"Not all of it Aaron. I know that many generations of fathers and sons have carried on the work, but when it started and why we do it has been lost over the centuries."
He smiled at his response and said, "I guess I’ll have to start from the beginning then. I’m the beginning, Homer. I’m your great grandfather many times removed, and I was the first in our family to breed roses. That was several thousand years ago. My son took over my work at my death, and passed it on until your father finally passed it on to you. You are the last of the Phillips line to be a rose breeder. Any questions so far?"
"Hundreds of them, Aaron, but I have the feeling I should wait until you’re finished before I ask them. For now I’ll ask just one. Should I call you Aaron or Grandfather?"
He chuckled and replied, "Well, Son, You can call me grandfather if you like. All the rest of the family does, but Aaron will do fine if you prefer. I suppose you’d like to know why we bred roses for all these years, now that you know how long we’ve done it."
"That would have been my first question, Grandfather. Please go on."
"When I was a young man I got interested in gardening. Times were tough back then and most people grew whatever they could find that was edible, as did I at first. I got quite good at it and used whatever growing space was available to grow food for my family. I was weeding one day when I noticed a wild rose seedling in with my vegetables. I liked roses and decided to let it grow to add a little color to the garden. All of the wild roses I’d seen were either pink or yellow, so I expected this one to be also. When it finally bloomed it was neither, instead it was almost white. It was obviously an offshoot of the wild yellow rose.
"I got thinking about that and began to experiment a little to see if I could hurry nature along a little. I started watching the roadsides and fields for lighter colored yellow roses and found several more. After years of crossbreeding I managed to develop a pure white rose. I took cuttings from the mother plant and soon had quite a few white rose bushes along my garden edge. People came often to look at my unusual roses and wanted to buy them from me. The next thing I knew I was in the nursery business."
"Would you care for some more tea before you go on, Grandfather?"
"Thank you, Son, I would. Well, about that time a prophet came through town. I’d heard of him from some of my customers and decided to go hear him speak. I was so impressed with his words that I went back the next day to hear him again, and I took along a nice bouquet of white roses as a gift. I knelt in front of him as a gesture of respect as I offered him my gift, but he pulled me to my feet and looked deep into my eyes. After a moment he released me and spoke to the crowd around us. He said, ‘This man has a soul as clean and bright as the roses he has brought me. Let him be an example for the rest of you. Do as he does and you shall surely see God."
He stopped talking for a moment to take a sip of the tea Homer had poured, then continued.
"I was happy to hear him say that, as I always led a good life and followed the teachings of our faith. He kept that bouquet of white roses in his hand for the rest of the day as he preached, and it never wilted. It was four more days before he left our village to move on. I wanted to follow him but he told me to stay and continue to work on my roses and live as I had been. He stopped at my garden on the way out to say goodbye. He was carrying the bouquet of roses I’d given him, and they still hadn’t wilted. When I marveled at the fact he said, ‘That which is pure shall never perish.’ It was years later before I saw him again."
"That’s quite a story, Grandfather. You lived an interesting life. You’ll be happy to know that your ancestors followed your lead and kept the faith you had back then. I never knew a Phillips who wasn’t a believer and didn’t live a proper life."
He laughed a bit and said, "Remind me to tell you about your grandfather Ed someday. It took a bit of doing to keep him on track, but he came around at the end. God is forgiving if he knows you’re sincere. But that’s a story for another day. There’s still a lot more to tell about the prophet. When he stopped to say goodbye that day he looked at my rose bushes. I remember he reached down and held one of the roses as he inhaled its fragrance. The strangest thing happened to that bush after he left. All of the roses, on just the branch he touched, looked different than the rest of the roses. They had more petals and grew larger. I carefully took cuttings from that branch and started new bushes that grew fuller roses than the old wild ones. After ten more years of experimenting I developed a rose that looked a lot like your modern roses, although not nearly as large and full as the ones surrounding me now."
Homer smiled at receiving such a compliment. "Thank you, Grandfather. I’m happy you like the centuries of work by your grandsons. Please continue your story."
"You’re welcome, Homer. As I was saying, I got word that the prophet was coming back through our village and met him on the way. I took along a bouquet of my new roses to give him as a gift and I told him what’d happened and thanked him. He said, ‘Don’t thank me, Aaron. Thank God; I’m just his messenger. It was your skill that created this new beautiful rose. God just gave you a helping hand.’ Then he turned to the people around him and said, ‘From this day forward the white rose will be known as the symbol of purity.’ I followed him and listened to his words until it was time for him to leave.
" He stopped again at my house as he was leaving, and we talked for awhile as he wandered with me through my rose garden. The words he spoke then are what caused you to dedicate your life to developing the perfect blue rose. He said, ‘God has given me a message for you. He wants you and your sons, and the sons of your sons, to create a rose suitable to be the showpiece of Heaven’s gardens. As a reward for your efforts, you, and all of those who work with you, will have a special place in Heaven after you leave your life here on earth behind you. You will be the keepers of Heaven’s gardens through all eternity, and God will look upon you with favor.’ After that he told me what God wanted done, and you, Homer, have finished the job. Your Blue Rose of Heaven will live through eternity along with you and all of your ancestors. That about finishes the story, Son. Do you have any questions?"
"I have a couple, Grandfather. What do we do next, and what was the name of the prophet you talked to?"
"You know who the prophet is, Homer. You speak his name often, both at home and in his house on the Sabbath. You’ll be meeting him in person as soon as we tie up some loose ends around here. Now lets get busy taking some cuttings from all of these beautiful roses for Heaven’s garden. Especially the Blue Rose of Heaven."
***
The following day was the Sabbath. It had always been the custom of Homer’s family to spend some time together after their morning religious service was over. They often took turns hosting each other for the days noon meal. When Homer didn’t show up for services, his sons went to his house to find out why; he rarely missed honoring God on His day. They found him in the garden slumped over his potting table. He’d departed this earth to be with his Creator.
Homer left the world a wonderful legacy. All of his roses were later propagated and enjoyed by thousands of people in their own gardens. All, that is, except for the blue rose. Every attempt to propagate it with cuttings failed. His sons saved the seed from the blossoms, and tried to grow new roses from them. The seeds germinated and produced a shrub, but the blossoms were small with fewer petals and they were not blue. The seed had reverted back to its origins several thousand years in the past, and Aaron’s original white rose blossomed again to fill the garden with its wonderful fragrance. The blue rose bush didn’t die with Homer, but it never blossomed again.
The Blue Rose of Heaven hasn’t been lost to mankind. Anyone can see them if they make the effort. Just stop in and take a walk through God’s garden when you get to Heaven. He won’t mind. It’s there for your enjoyment.
The End
o here is a blue rose for reading it love yall
