unfold

A young, new Priest was walking with an older, more seasoned Priest in the garden one day. Feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was asking the older Priest for some advice.

The older Father walked up to a rosebush and handed the young Priest a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals. The young Priest looked in disbelief at the older Father and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the will of God for his life and ministry. But because of his great respect for the older Father, he proceeded to try to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal intact. It wasn't long before he realized how impossible this was to do.

Noticing the younger Priest's inability to unfold the rosebud without tearing it, the older Father began to recite the following poem:

It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.
The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
GOD opens this flower so sweetly,
Then in my hands they die.
If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God's design,
Then how can I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?
So I'll trust in Him for leading
Each moment of my day.
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.
The pathway that lies before me,
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.

Bridge to Home

"We are still children, however hard we try to cover that up. There are no 'grown-ups.' When we get old, we only exchange our toys: business for bats, sex for sleds, power for popguns. At death our Father calls: 'Come, little one. Time to put away your toys and come home.'"

Peter Kreeft, Heaven