Blooming Roses and Whispers of the Holy Spirit

Sometimes it’s in the smallest places — the garden, the everyday moments — where we glimpse how heaven and earth are woven together. Pentecost Sunday arrived with a whisper of hope I didn’t expect. I’ve been learning to notice these little reminders of the Holy Spirit’s presence. Perhaps you have too…

I couldn’t pass up this rose bush last year when the kids and I were choosing mulch for our garden. There it was — a color I didn’t yet have in the sacred space I have been cultivating. Something about it seemed to hold so much depth — to our life, and to our faith. Something about it reminded me of the Heart of Christ.

I bought this new rose bush to add to the others in the tender sanctuary of new life I had begun planting during the last weeks of Jon’s life. This was a way for me to pour into new life while walking alongside the end of his. I prayed that abundant blooms would grow in that space — a space meant to honor a life we had woven together, now stretching between heaven and earth.

I prayed that abundant blooms would grow in that space — a space meant to honor a life we had woven together, now stretching between heaven and earth.

Heather lebano

This garden, and each of the many plantings in our yard, too, became part of the home where we were learning how to stay rooted — how to tend to life, to beauty, to hope — even in the places where once we had known only uprooting.

“Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose hope is in the Lord.
They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.” — Jeremiah 17:7-8

And now standing among these vibrant and fragrant blooms now, after so much tending and hope poured into the soil, feels a little like heaven.

I do have a red rose bush I bought in honor of my mom. It’s been a finicky one, likely due to the timing of all things in my life when roses first begin to bloom — or maybe finicky in a way that would suit my mom. Ha! She loved plants, though she didn’t grow roses — maybe because she moved so often in life, and roses require us to be firmly rooted.

But this new one intrigued me. Though its blooms lean red, some petals appear white with red tips, and smaller ones blush pink. We bought it just before Mother’s Day last year, but I didn’t get around to planting it until Father’s Day weekend.

I told the kids maybe I’d call it my Divine Mercy Rose — blood and water — but that didn’t feel quite right. Divine Mercy is more often represented with red and blue. Then I thought maybe the Holy Spirit — red and white — but again, it felt too forced. It was just a rose bush that quietly reminded me of the Sacred Heart.

And June is the month of the Sacred Heart.

Last summer, it offered only a handful of blooms. But the week before Jon’s birthday in September, it began to burst with life — a late, unexpected blooming.

When I saw the first bloom a few weeks back — the edges tipped in red, almost dripping — the blood of Christ came to mind. But I never did name the rose. I know I am not the only gardener to name her roses.

I love roses for their double gift: beauty, then more beauty especially when they bloom in more than one season. This bush, with its varied colors, has become just that kind of gift. It first bloomed a year ago and then the week of Jon’s birthday last year.

This morning, I pulled out my Happy Birthday coffee cup — “Happy Birthday to the Church.” It’s Pentecost Sunday. For years, our family has worn red to Mass, a tradition inspired by a friend long ago. I always love this liturgical celebration. It’s a day to remember the Holy’s Spirit’s presence and movement and the birth of the Church.

So to honor the day (liturgical living) I decided to cut a few roses to bring inside. I was thinking the dark pink ones would be the closest to red for this day since the others had not yet bloomed.

When I went outside, that one-year-old rose bush — the one planted just before Father’s Day last year— stood there exploding with blooms and color. I thought we’d miss seeing these roses this year with all our May travels, but the garden has put on a show.

And today — of all days — that bush I once considered calling the Divine Mercy bush, the one I almost named for the Holy Spirit, bloomed in a way that took my breath away. White petals kissed with red. Blood and water. Flame and purity.

Maybe I will call it the Holy Spirit bush after all. Maybe I will call it Veni Sancte Spiritus who doesn’t love a little latin in our lives?

Because today, it bloomed in a way that let me feel seen. On a day when a few prayers — including one I had held silently in my heart for some time — were gently answered. One that only the Spirit could have known, and one I had asked Jon to help bring to fruition. This morning, there was a whisper of hope — hope for a future I have quietly prayed for.

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”
— Romans 5:5

Sometimes a rose bush is more than a rose bush.
Sometimes it is a whispered reminder from the Holy Spirit: I see you. I hear you. I am with you.

Isn’t that the gift of the eternal presence of the Holy Spirit?

“The gift of the Holy Spirit is not a temporary gift, but a permanent one; in fact, for a soul who lives in charity, He is the sweet Guest who dwells within it. ‘If anyone love Me,’ says Jesus in the words of today’s Gospel (Jn 14:23-31), ‘We will come to him and will make Our abode with him.’”— Divine Intimacy

Come, Holy Spirit.

Perhaps today, there is a simple place where the Spirit is reminding you: I see you. I hear you. I am with you.

May we have hearts to notice.

May our red roses bloom.

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