Roses and Divine Grace

My mother was born in 1930, and she was raised by two Baptist parents who advocated modesty in all things. Usually, my grandmother pointed out flaws in the dishes she'd prepared - the choclate icing was a little dry, her beans needed a "tad more salt," or the broth in her chicken pie was too thick. None of that was really true. Her food was always amazing. Every now and then, though, she just sat quiet and let us carry on over how much we liked everything. That was as close as Gunga ever came to bragging.

Mama, then, was from a different era, a different ethos, one which eschewed drawing attention to oneself and to boasting about talents, accomplishments, wealth, status, or possessions. She once admitted to me that she was "good in Math." Understand that the woman never made a B in any course, that she made high As in all Math courses, and that she went on to teach high school Mathematics. Daddy said that she would do Calculus problems for fun, like puzzles, before she had kids to chase us around. So, her private acknowledgement of mathematical acumen hardly rates as bragging.

Like her own mother, Mama trained her children to practice humility. Mind you, I can't brag about my grades in Math - or any other subject - and I never did anything on a stage or ball field that drew applause or acclaim. I pretty much "flew under the radar," managing to go essentially unnoticed by the world outside my family, my closest friends, and my home church. Not bragging came rather naturally for me.

Until now. Mama's been gone for 26 years and, come June, Gunga will have been gone for 20. So, I'm throwing caution to the wind and letting the world know that - as evidenced by the picture above - that I am a whiz-bang at growing roses. That bush is in our front yard here in Fort Valley, Georgia. If that doesn't convince you of my incredible abilities, here's another nearby bush.

Still don't believe me? How about this one?

Modesty compels me to stop at this point. But there can be no argument that the folks at the White House ought to be seeking my advice on taking care of that little garden where the President is always hosting events.

Sometimes I imagine that a husband and wife are driving by our house and happen to glance over. "Look a there, Myrtle," I'll bet he says. "Whoever lives there must really have a green thumb!"

"Yep," she likely says back. "Too bad you can't grow roses like that for me, Edgar. Whatever woman lives there is one lucky lady!"

Yeah, right!

Those roses are in our yard and, yes, they are stunning. You can smell them when you step outside our front door and the blooms stand out as you approach our driveway. Some of the limbs are sagging under the weight of the blooms. They are flat out amazing and . . .

I have nothing to do with it! We live in a parsonage - a home provided to the pastoral family by the good people of Fort Valley Methodist Church - and the roses were here when we arrived in June of 2022. Doug Mays, the former pastor, planted them, I believe. If he didn't, somebody else did because it sure wasn't me. I don't water them, fertilize them, or prune them. All I do is sit back and marvel.

That, my friends, is a picture of divine grace if I've ever seen one. "While we were still sinners, Christ died for us," Romans 5:8 tells us. Ephesians 2:8, also in the English Standard Version, says, "For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God." And later in Romans 11:8 Paul says, "But if it is by grace, it is no longer on the basis of works; otherwise grace would no longer be grace."

Salvation, then, is a gift freely given. All we do is to receive it by faith, and then we enjoy the blessings that come each day from our relationship with God through Jesus Christ. Which means we can't brag on our salvation, other than to boast in what Christ has done for us.

Just like those roses. Grace upon grace!