There’s a story about a family – a happily married couple with two fairly typical children: a girl, 7, and a boy, 6. One fine day their mother, in a moment of inspiration, decided to show them something about life. So she asked them to each plant a rose garden.

Since it was just the beginning of spring, the time was perfect for getting started. That first Saturday, Mom and her two children spent the morning preparing the beds while Dad mowed the lawn. Her son, Steve, wanted his roses next to the garage. On the other hand, her daughter Nancy liked a spot near the house.

Mother just smiled. “You choose your places all by yourselves. I’ll help you plant them, but you have to take care of them. I’ve shown you how. By the end of the summer, we’ll see who has the best rose garden.”

By the end of the day, both flowerbeds had been prepared and stocked with several rose plants each. Although tired from the hard work, it had been a beautiful day and the work was pleasant. It was a good start.

Over the next few weeks, both children were excited to see their rose bushes taking hold. In fact, they seemed to almost shoot up like missiles, while simultaneously leafing out in every direction. It wasn’t unusual for Mom and Dad to see both Steve and Nancy occasionally picking weeds from their gardens. Sometimes they even caught them checking out each other’s garden as well. Mom and Dad smiled at each other.

Before long, rosebuds began to form, and one day Nancy and Steve came charging in, bursting with the news. “We’re going to have lots of roses! I can’t wait!” they exclaimed enthusiastically, and promptly ran outside again to admire their handiwork.

Eventually the buds burst forth with bloom after rich bloom; the air filled with their perfume. Pink ones, red ones, yellow ones; it seemed as if a bright and lovely rainbow had landed in the back yard. All they needed was a pot of gold!

That afternoon as the whole family admired the children’s handiwork, their neighbor, old Mrs. Halbers, happened to walk by. “My, what beautiful roses!” she exclaimed. “You children have certainly done a wonderful job raising them!” This surprised all of them because, up until then, they’d never even spoken with her before (she was something of a recluse).

Steve ran over and grabbed a clipper, snipped off three of the biggest blooms from his own bushes, and gingerly handed them to her. “For you, Ma’am,” he said. “I hope you like them.”

She was surprised and very grateful, and as she turned away, she told him, “Why thank you, young man. I’ll put them in water right away and set them on my dinner table. They’ll certainly brighten the room up a bit.”

The next morning, and almost every day afterwards, roses appeared on their own dinner table as if by magic. Steve continued to give roses to anyone and everyone, even crotchety old Mr. Goober down the street. (That wasn’t his real name; the kids on the block called him that because he never smiled, and he seemed to spend most of his time eating peanuts, while sitting in a big wooden rocking chair on his front porch.)

Nancy, on the other hand, didn’t give any of her blooms away. She thought to herself, “If Steve keeps giving away all his roses, by the time summer’s over he won’t have any left, and my roses will be prettier!”

After only a few weeks, though, her bushes began to lose some of their beauty. Many roses had indeed bloomed – just like Steve’s – but then slowly died, leaving ugly brown lumps in their place. And so, while there were still plenty of blooms, there were also lots of dead ones as well. It looked terrible. She finally went to her mother.

“I don’t understand, Mom,” she almost cried. “Why aren’t my rose bushes pretty anymore? How come they look that way? What did I do?”

Her mother put her arm around Nancy and gave her a reassuring hug. “It’s like this, Sweetheart,” she began. “The best way to keep rose bushes happy is to give the roses away; it’s what they’re for. Roses like being admired.”

“But Mom, I admire them all the time! Why don’t they like me?”

“Oh, darling, it’s not that,” her mother hastened to assure her while stifling a laugh. “I’m sure they appreciate what you’ve done for them. After all, you helped them become what they are – incredibly beautiful roses. But the thing is, flowers like to be admired by everybody.”

Suddenly, Nancy’s eyes grew round and her face glowed with comprehension. “So that’s why Steve’s bushes look so much prettier than mine! He doesn’t have any dead roses on his bushes because he’s been giving them away all along!” She raced outside to grab her gloves and clippers.

For the rest of the summer, both Steve and Nancy could be seen walking up and down the street, giving roses to everybody on the block. Mrs. Halbers came over for tea at least once a week. Mr. Goober waved at them every time he saw them. (It turned out his real name was Finklestein, but when he found out they called him Mr. Goober, he laughed so hard he told everyone to keep calling him that. Most of the kids on the block played in his yard now… and he gave away a lot of peanuts.)

Amazingly, by the end of the summer, the children’s rose bushes – the ones by the garage and the ones by the house – were absolutely stunning! Tall, broad, green, and full of rich blossoms of every color, they completely changed the nature of the yard – just as they had changed the neighborhood.

As the family admired them once again, the lesson wasn’t lost on either Steve or Nancy:

Giving away beauty makes you beautiful.

(Photo credit: Roses, by ** Mary **)

_________________________________

This story was inspired by my friend, Liz Strauss, who give away more than anybody I know, and has no idea how far her gifts go – and doesn’t care! A tip o’ the hat to ya, Liz! Y’all drop on by and say “Howdy!”