Flowers and Prayers

 “The LORD smelled the pleasing aroma and said in his heart: “Never again will I curse the ground because of humans, even though every inclination of the human heart is evil from childhood. And never again will I destroy all living creatures, as I have done.” —Genesis 8 : 21

       Flowers speak a language of their own. The red rose speaks of love and the poet sings about it in beautiful words:

“Oh, my love is like a red, red rose.
That’s newly sprung in June.”

The white rose and lily speak of purity, and we talk of one who “bears the white flower of a blameless life.” The carnation reminds us of mother and Mother’s Day, and the four leafed clover we say speaks of “good luck” and the hedge rose with its thorns says, “Beware.” The poppy makes us think of the soldiers who lie sleeping in Flanders Fields between the white crosses row on row:

“In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.”

"I am the rose of Sharon, and 
the lily of the valleys." 

       There is an old notion that prayers are like flowers. I have often wondered why prayers and flowers belong together and now I understand. It is because of their beauty, especially the beauty of their perfume, which ascends from both flowers and prayers. There is a fragrance that belongs only to flowers and prayers. The Bible tells us that prayers are sweet to God. In great cathedrals sweet smelling incense is used to suggest that prayer is pleasing to God. Like prayer it ascends. It is fragrant. It is sweet. But I like to think that the sweetness of prayer is more like the fragrance of beautiful flowers.
       And perhaps this is the way to explain a beautiful old story. One night, when the birds were asleep and the moon was behind a thin, silvery cloud, a mother who was watching her little girl lying in her crib fell asleep herself and as she slept she dreamed a dream. She dreamed that she was in heaven and saw all the prayers come in and they came in as flowers come to the home on Easter Day or to the hospital when we are sick. The prayers came up to heaven like flowers and the angels carried them into a beautiful room to arrange them and to sort them. Some were in full bloom and some were only in bud. Sometimes there was a single flower and sometimes there were great clusters of them. Suddenly the angel paused and then picking up a delicate little rosebud, was about to leave the room, now so full of fragrance and loveliness. Holding up the little rosebud the angel said, “This is for the Master'’ and the mother said, “Whence is the rosebud? Who sent it? What is it?” Then the angel smiled and said, “Oh, knowest thou not? This is the first prayer of a little child.” Then the mother awoke and looked into the face of her little girl who had fallen asleep with a prayer upon her lips.
       “The first prayer of a little child.” That I think is the most beautiful prayer of all. Surely it is like a rosebud, in the Master’s hand.
       You know how eagerly we listen to a little child’s first word and how we treasure it. Prayer is just speaking to God, and a little child’s first prayer is the first word spoken to God and He listens for that first prayer just as a mother listens for and loves her child’s first word. Kerr