The Story of the Village Roses

“ National Flower Day on March 21st.

”

From a bouquet of memories—I selected The Story of the Village Roses—in honor of National Flower Day on March 21st. Travel back with me to the late 1970s and early 1980s to a communist Poland where our family lived.

Walking the streets of Eastern Europe nurtured and watered my love for blossoms and blooms. The gray persona of communist-dominated days underwent a beautiful transformation in the presence of flowers, and the population lovingly embraced this expression of color. In public squares and in private homes, flowers received prominence. Both available and affordable, flowers kept this population looking up when life and government kept pressing it down.

Village roses quickly became our favorite. Long, thick stems and strong, solid heads placed these jewels in a category all their own, and they could only be purchased from vendors at the farmers’ market. Like the nation itself, these roses could withstand harsh conditions and come out beautiful to behold.

On a warm, summer day, Larry drove excitedly to meet us at the airport, but not before stopping at the market to purchase the best—a colorful bouquet of a dozen village roses. After a brief trip to the U.S., his two ladies (wife and daughter) were coming home, and he could hardly wait!

But wait he would have to do.

Our beleaguered Pan Am flight was two and a half days late. First, delayed out of Memphis, then delayed out of JFK, we were further delayed with engine failure. In the middle of the night, out over the ocean, the captain woke us with the news that we needed to make an emergency landing in Ireland. At long last, after being assigned a new plane and a fresh crew, our three-year-old and I stumbled back on board and headed home. But then—the new pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker to announce that this plane bound for Poland needed to reroute to Austria. A World War II P.O.W. veteran on board refused to fly into Warsaw. The unmercifully long trip just got longer.

In the age of no telecommunication, Larry endured a journey of his own. He received updates only when he drove to the airport, stood in line at the Pan Am counter, and asked for news on the safety and whereabouts of his wife and child. Episode by episode, he mentally and emotionally traveled with us.

And all along, there was the bewildering question: “What to do with the village roses?”

Well—

An older Polish woman, who had learned to withstand harsh conditions and come out beautiful to behold, provided advice that he followed to the letter:

• fill the bathtub with freezing cold water

• submerge the flowers in the water

• when you are ready to return to the airport lift them and shake them off

So, with every eager trip to the airport, Larry lifted the village roses out of the bathtub, shook them off, and carefully placed them on the backseat of the car. Then, he raced expectantly to the terminal to greet us, only to be met with further news of the extended delay. Leaving the airport with the flowers in the backseat, he took them back to submerge them in a bathtub filled with cold water.

Seven times, yes, seven times, he repeated the routine. And each time, he would marvel that these village roses could, indeed, withstand harsh conditions and come out beautiful to behold.

Eventually, we landed in Poland and collapsed into Larry’s loving arms, arms that bore a gorgeous, fresh, healthy bouquet of village roses. And, truth be told, the roses fared better, for while the mother-daughter pair did withstand harsh conditions, at that moment we were not beautiful to behold! Rather, we found ourselves hungry, frazzled, exhausted, and desperate for our beds. Later, we learned that the Pan Am airline fired the crew, and my mother phoned the CEO of the airline and got our tickets refunded.

So, on National Flower Day, March 21st, this is a tribute to Village Roses and the part they played in a saga from a long time ago.

Now, please share your story in tribute to National Flower Day!

Putting One Foot in Front of the Other

Guest Post by Vivian Hyatt

Some days—some years—that’s what it’s like.

I learned something about that one summer in the tiny country of Albania.

Along with my husband and our team of five, we had just finished three sweaty days of trekking through very small villages, carrying with us the film Jesus, and inviting mayors’ offices, schools, everyone we met, to watch a showing in their town square, where we would manually set up a large screen and a projector. The whole town usually turned out. Never mind that we also had a few visiting goats. It came with the territory.

When I say “trekking,” what should come to your mind are long hikes between villages, walking around each village, knocking on gates or doors, all day long—and we never knew where we would sleep at night. Under the stars was a possibility. However, we were always eventually invited by the hospitable Albanian people. Sometimes we would eat our evening meal at midnight…and double up in beds…and if we had to find the outhouse in the middle of the night, we might be keeping company with the donkey.

Now, we had three days of R&R at “base camp,” along with other like teams, before the next round of villages. What did that mean? Well, a shower for one thing, and a bed to myself in the crowded women’s wing of the camp.

As part of “Rest and Relaxation,” a hike—an uphill hike—was planned. My intrepid husband thought it was a great idea and signed us up. His motto is: No experience should be left unturned!

For some reason, I went along.

Halfway up that hill—or less or more, how did I know?—my tired feet could not haul my 60-year-old body another step. I went to our young Albanian guide and said, “I’ll just sit down here and wait for the rest of you to come back.” He was sweet but adamant: “Oh, no. I’m not leaving anyone behind. You have to come with us.”

And of course, he was right. He was in charge of this group and being very responsible. What if I started down by myself and got lost? Among other possibilities that I may not have reckoned with.

That was when I found out I actually could put one foot in front of the other when I thought it was not possible to go any farther. I literally watched the feet in front—uphill from me—and went on, all the way to the top.

“Even when I don’t think I can do it—can’t go on in this care, in this worry, in this set of overwhelming circumstances, with this hard news that seems to come from several directions at once.”

In life, as in hiking, sometimes the only way uphill is to put one foot in front of the other. Even when I don’t think I can do it—can’t go on in this care, in this worry, in this set of overwhelming circumstances, with this hard news that seems to come from several directions at once. Life does not usually let us stop and conveniently rest before we have to take the next step or make the next difficult decision.

It helps, of course, to have a guide. A guide who goes on in front. A guide who can confidently say, “I’m not leaving you behind. I will get you to the top.”

Job, a man who had gotten all the bad news one person can get, was able to say of God, “…He knows the way I take; when he has tried me, I shall come forth as gold…for he will complete what he appoints for me. My foot has held fast to his steps…” (Job 23:10, 11, 14)

With God as my guide, his footsteps going ahead of me, I can be confident of getting where he wants me to go.

We’ll get to the top, I seem to hear him say.

That’s his part. Mine is to keep my eyes on his steps and put one foot in front of the other.

Living With Eternal Intentionality®

“…He knows the way I take; when he has tried me, I shall come forth as gold…for he will complete what he appoints for me. My foot has held fast to his steps…” (Job 23:10, 11, 14)

Vivian and her husband, Trent, served with Cru in Eastern Europe and Russia for 39 years. They now live in Dayton, Ohio, and go back to Eastern Europe twice a year to teach in the Institute of Biblical Studies and to mentor missionary leaders. When she’s not on airplanes, Vivian enjoys gardening, reading books to Trent while he washes the dinner dishes, skyping with her four grandchildren who live in Germany, as well as her five children who live in two countries outside the US and two states. She must read, and she must write. Best of all, she loves sharing life with Trent.

Eric Liddell's 6 Questions

Dear Readers, Thank you! Many of you responded to the recent blog post, Eric Liddell Just Kept Running. And thank you for the additional resources you shared from the life of this man of faith. Today’s blog post emerges from one such email where a dear friend highlighted Eric’s personal devotional questions he used on a daily basis. So beautifully, the Word of God, the Spirit of God, and service for God mark these queries.

Whether you consider one question or several (or one per day of the week) the intention is for one’s heart to be prepared to embrace fellowship with the Living God.

6 Questions to Ask Each Morning

1. Have I surrendered this new day to God, and will I seek and obey the guidance of the Holy Spirit through its hours?

2. What have I specialty to thank God for this morning?

3. Is there any sin in my life for which I should seek Christ’s forgiveness and cleansing? Is there any apology or restitution to make?

4. For whom does God want me to pray this morning?

5. What bearing does this morning’s Bible passage have on my life, and what does He want me to do about it?

6. What does God want me to do today and how does he want me to do it?

Living With Eternal Intentionality®

How do you see this set of questions being helpful to you in your time alone with the Lord?

If you only choose one or two of these, which would you highlight for yourself?

Like Eric Liddell, do you have other resources you use in your private worship to share with us?

Source Credits: These questions are available at International Friendships, in the book Eric Liddell (Heroes of the Faith) by Ellen Caughey, and 6 Questions for Devotion.