Roses, Prophecies and Poetry.
By R.M. Hamilton
The Lady Banks rose is out in bloom. It’s always the first rose out, down here in Australia. Lady Banks is from China originally, and when it made it to the West it was named for Dorothea Lady Banks, who was the wife of botanist Sir Joseph Banks.
I think that’s about the most romantic thing I ever heard of.
I don’t believe in talismans. I’m religiously obligated not to. Deuteronomy 18 covers that rather sternly. But if I did believe in talismans, I might choose Lady Banks rose as my lucky flower.
The rose introduced me one of my best friends.
Many years ago, I went through a terribly lonely patch. It was one of those lonely patches that doesn’t look that lonely on the surface.
I didn’t lack people. But I did lack friends. It’s one thing to be alone in a forest, it’s another thing entirely to be alone in a crowded room.
Worst of all is to be alone in a conversation.
At that time I read a poem by a chap by the name of John Burroughs. It’s called Waiting. The whole poem is worth reading (I’ll put it at the end of this post, not everyone likes to read a whole poem), but there was one verse that stood out above the rest.
It reads,
Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.
I was comforted by that poem.
I believed it.
Years went by and we ended up in a place called The Southern Highlands in New South Wales. We didn’t have a Lady Banks rose in our garden, but one was growing semi-wild down the road. I hauled my long-suffering sister off to take some pictures of it.
The rose was almost spent. Lady Banks doesn’t flower for very long. But I liked the pictures, and I kept them on my phone. A few years later, I posted one of the pictures to my Instagram. And an author from New York, called Marion Grudko, who I did not know, left a comment on it.
You never know when you’re going to meet a truly extraordinary person. It’s a bit like spotting a falling star. You can watch the sky for years and years and never see such a sight, until suddenly it just happens.
It has taken a long time, but John Burrough’s poem is coming true. I am meeting the friends I was seeking.
It would appear that loneliness doesn’t last forever after all.
We who wait on the Lord, do a lot of waiting. And my goodness, I get sick of it.
But that’s only half the equation.
We who wait on the Lord, also get miracles.
I don’t know that there is any miracle greater than the miracle of meeting the right person at the right time.
Mum says, “you never really get over the wonder of a miracle.”
So that’s my story of loneliness and Lady Banks Roses.
Prophesied in a poem, introduced by a rose bush and organized by God.
And I suppose that’s the real reason I don’t believe in talismans.
Because I have found that all the wonders of the universe, from poetry to falling stars, are nothing more than buds in God’s garden.
Beautiful, but ultimately powerless.
It is only God that makes things bloom.
When he does, it is wonderful.
When he delays, we trust.
Waiting.
By John Burroughs
Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
And garner up its fruit of tears.
The waters know their own and draw
The brook that springs in yonder height;
So flows the good with equal law
Unto the soul of pure delight.
The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave unto the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
Can keep my own away from me.
The essay belongs to Ruth Hamilton and may not be reproduced without written consent. The poem, Waiting, was written by John Burroughs 1837 –1921.