The Fragrance of Forgiveness

by Delia Latham

As a child, I spent more time at my grandmother’s house than at my own. In later years, she became my best friend. It was long after she died before I found another person I could confide in like I had in Granny.

One particular day, after being seriously betrayed by a friend, I rushed to Granny's grave and spilled my heart to her, just like always. Sobbing, I pulled a rose out of a jar atop her gravestone and breathed in its sweet fragrance. My fingers picked at the petals while tears wet my cheeks and bitter words tumbled from my mouth. Without thinking, I closed my fist around the delicate flower, crushing its perfect beauty.

Tossing the broken petals aside, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. Eventually the overwhelming fragrance of roses caught my attention. It sweetened the air all around me…but clung strongest to the hand that had crushed the rose.

Granny? God? Are you telling me something?

Driving past a local church the next day, my gaze fell on their marquee, which read, "Forgiveness is the fragrance given by flowers when trampled upon." The words hit me like a two-ton sledge. I pulled my car to the side of the road and wept.

That’s what God and Granny had tried to convey with the rose—to forgive, just as that helpless flower forgave my cruelty, leaving its fragrance on my killing hands. And just as did the Rose of Sharon, Who blessed those who rejected Him with the sweet aroma of Salvation.

Note: This post contributed as part of Mary DeMuth's Thin Places Blog Tour. Send in an entry for your chance to win a FREE Kindle reader.

Note 2: Credit for the beautiful rose in this post goes to artist Pierre-Joseph Redouté. Please ... take a moment to stop in and admire his wonderful botanical art.