Funeral arrangements for my husband of 57 years overwhelmed me, even with my son and his wife at the funeral home helping. We left feeling low.
On our way back to the car we passed a residence with a garden full of roses in every color. The gate was open. We couldn’t stop ourselves from walking through. Just as I bent over to smell a lush red blossom, the owner came outside.
“We’re sorry,” my son said. “We just came from planning a funeral, and these roses are so beautiful…”
“That’s why I leave the gate open,” the woman said. She handed her pruning sheers over to my son. “Cut yourselves a big bouquet.”
A few minutes later we got into the car with an armful of roses. God had planted a garden just where we needed it—and assigned the most caring of angels to watch over it.
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