Every morning I go down into the garden to see the roses. We didn't plant them. They were here when we moved in, like an unexpected gift waiting to be found. I have no doubt they were meant to be here, just as we were meant to be here. They have a way of making me feel like I am home.

Some days I go to admire them as they open to the sun in full bloom and some days I go to pick at them, pull off the faded leaves to make way for new. Some times I go out to prune them, slicing at them ruthlessly. It is good for them to be cut right back, be left raw and vulnerable, so that they can grow.

I once made my heart into a rose. It was in a dragon story that I wrote for Mac a long time ago. The Dragon had somehow managed to keep the rose in perfect shape even though he had held onto it for years. Yet as I watch these roses grow, I feel more at peace with them knowing that they bud and bloom, knowing that they fade, knowing that they need to be pruned. My heart isn't something that stagnates, it ebbs and flows through the happenings of my life, sometimes budding, sometimes open, sometimes raw. Mac's hands are not magic and despite how hard He tries to protect it, sometimes my heart is bruised and torn. That's ok though, because it just means that I am not afraid to stand in the rain and weather the storm. In time, with ruthlessness and care, my heart will bloom again.

It will be as beautiful and perfect as before.