He Still Sends Roses

“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.” – John 11:25

He still sends roses. John 11:25

The loss of a mom or grandmother never really leaves you. It softens over time, but the love stays close—tucked into everyday things like recipes, photographs, or the scent of roses drifting through the air.

The day started like any other day… but it didn’t stay that way.

I went over to my mom and dad’s house, and the moment I walked in, my mom said, “You’re not going to believe what happened. Come look at my rosebush.”

We stepped outside, and there it was—her yellow rose bush in full bloom. But right in the middle of all that golden beauty was a single, deep red rose.

What makes this so special is that years ago, after my grandma Belle passed away, my mom dug up this very rose bush from my grandma’s yard and transplanted it in her own backyard. My grandma was an incredible rose grower—her yard was full of color, life, and the most fragrant blooms you could imagine. This rose bush was part of that legacy. A living memory.

And not long after she replanted it, something unexplainable happened: it bloomed one single red rose among the yellow. Just once. Never again.

Until now.

I looked at my mom and asked, “Wait… isn’t today Grandma’s anniversary? What’s the date today?”

She paused. We both looked down at our watches, and right there on the screen was the date.

Tears welled up in my mom’s eyes. We didn’t say much after that. It just felt like a sweet little hug from heaven.

A reminder that we are seen.

Loved.

Remembered.

A sign that death isn’t the end, and love still blooms in the most unexpected places.

Today happens to be Palm Sunday—the day Jesus rode into Jerusalem, greeted by palm branches and praises. A day that looked like celebration, even as it led to the cross. And it hit me: that one red rose felt like a foreshadowing, too. A whisper of hope in the middle of

sorrow. A symbol of sacrifice. A quiet reminder that the story isn't over.

And as I sit here,thinking about that red rose—just one, bold and rich among all the yellow—it struck me. On Palm Sunday, of all days, a single red rose bloomed. A color so deep, it reminded me of the blood Jesus shed. His sacrifice, His love, His suffering—for us. It felt like the rose wasn’t just a hug from heaven, but a holy whisper: “This is love.”

“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.” – John 11:25

Maybe God uses roses the way He used palms.

To prepare our hearts.

To wrap His arms around us.

To show us that He sees.

So if you're walking through a hard season, missing someone deeply, or just longing for a sign that heaven is near—this is your reminder:

Heaven is closer than we think. And sometimes, it looks like one red rose.

Grief has a scent. Sometimes it smells like roses. This one red bloom reminded me that heaven still speaks, and love never dies.