As I planted my freshly purchased annuals, I wondered which flower had such a sweet aroma.
I sniffed each one as I dropped them into their new mud homes, but I never found that lovely spring messenger. My work finally done—and my grass-stained knees creaking—I gathered my garden tools and wandered over to a bed I had not tended. I wanted to at least peek at my project for another day. The aroma greeted me again, growing stronger as I approached.
Tucked in among the Hosta, the plant that can overpower a garden, rested some tenacious Lilies of the Valley, barely peeking out from among the giant plants. They stood unassuming and small, but sent out a large and inviting fragrance as a message of their presence, even among the giants that squeezed them. I wanted to stand near the flowers, look closely at their blooms, and inhale their fragrance.
I want my fragrance to send out a message of the hope and peace I have in Christ, even if I am nestled among giants who don’t know Him. Like the lilies, I want to be unassuming and make no excuse, except that my hope is not my doing and that anyone can have that same peace. I want my trust in Jesus’ atoning sacrifice to be so fragrant that anyone without that hope wants to ask me how they can have it.
I pushed the Hosta leaves aside, cupped the little flowers in my hands, and breathed deeply, in no rush to leave them.
Yes. I want to be like the lilies and have a fragrance of hope that draws people closer and makes them want to tarry long enough to find out what gives me hope and peace. As they tarry, I pray they will embrace my hope and carry the fragrance of Christ with them to others.
What kind of fragrance are you emitting?
(Photo courtesy of pixabay.)
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