Cultivators of excellence, water with perfection, nourish with exuberance and trim with vision. Such was the Cultivator of Excellence. His heart was for roses, for within them he beheld the beauty of the Creator. He oversaw the development and nurture of thousands of roses, all housed in a fort of protection, a green house.
His attire resembled the perfection of the cultivated roses, for it too, was perfect in every way. Those hands, those feet, those designer clothes, they saw no dirt for the use of gloves, shoe covers and an apron were the barriers between beauty and the essence of beauty.
The Cultivator of Excellence loved his position in the green house. It was his castle and his sphere of authority. He diligently prepared the roses for exhibitions all across the nation. He would cross pollinate, prepare the exact nutrients, the precise amount of water, trim any part that would deviate from his perception of the perfect rose and hold the atmosphere at the ideal temperature. No blemishes were to be seen on the plants in this place of perfection for they exhibited purity in every way. He was known for playing soothing music to alleviate his stress and the stress on his precious roses so that they would grow in comfort, peace and harmony.
This place of perfection required the Cultivator of Excellence to be extremely vigilant. Each day he would clean the walls and floor to make sure there was no dirt to mare the scene. It was on one of these occasions that he beheld something that caused great distress to rise up within him, like a fountain of murky water. It was almost a feeling of disgust and abhorrence, a blight on the place of perfection. Growing through a crack in the cement floor, close to the external wall, was a wild rose. There wasn’t a hint of culture about this one. The Cultivator of Excellence was angry because of the audacity of this intruder to penetrate the space set aside for perfection.
He stared for some time, feeding the contempt that he had for this ‘thing’ of disgust. Some strange thing began to change within him. It was as if the contempt was beginning to dissolve into a memory. The memory was of a time long ago when the Cultivator of Excellence was drawn to the outside of the immaculate green house. He looked in amazement at the many wild roses that grew straight out of rocks, out of cracks in pathways and seemingly from under asphalt roads. There was something about these roses, something incredible, something good he had failed to introduce into his strict breeding program. What was it? As he looked at this wild rose, he could see what he had missed. It was an amazing strength and resilience to all climatic conditions.
His turn around was swift and decisive. He prepared a pot of the best soil, adding the perfect balance of nutrients, the best that money could buy. He pulled on the wild rose. Its roots were strong and went deep below the floor. It resisted the attempt to displace it. Blood began to flow from the glove protected hand of the Cultivator of Excellence. The thorn from the rose was strong enough to pierce the glove. A cry of pain could be heard echoing across the green house. It wasn’t just from Cultivator of Excellence it was also from the one who felt the pain of fierce removal, a break from the freedom its creator had always given it. The blood fell on the wild rose, instantly the Cultivator was reminded of when this happened to one of his precious roses. It was as if the Creator was saying, “I shed my blood for the cultivated and the wild ones so that both would be set free.”
The Cultivator of Excellence took the wild rose and placed it in a pot, close to an outside window. He was going to graft the wild one into one of the cultivated roses to produce a new strain, a perfect one with resilience and strength. Each day the cultivator would come and give the wild one every good thing but each day the rose began to sag and look sad. One morning as he watched the rose, a drop of water bubbled up from within the blossom and fell silently down the wilted body of the wild rose. It was like a tear. It may have even been a tear. A tear that said, “I am dying!” A tear that said, “I CAN’T BE WHO YOU WANT ME TO BE, I MUST BE WHO MY CREATOR MADE ME TO BE.” The cultivator felt the pain of the wild one and cried out in that pain, “What have I done?” That crushing pain reminded him of the time a huge storm had come and blown the roof off the green house and all the perfect roses were broken but outside the wild ones stood tall and strong for they knew how to survive even the fiercest of storms. They had always depended on the Creator to feed, water and protect them. They loved the sun and the bees the Creator sent their way. The noise of the wind and the warmth of the sun reassured them that the Creator was near, and it was time to blossom. Life was all around them and the Creator taught them about Himself and about the joy they brought to all who wanted to seek and find them.
In desperation the Cultivator of Excellence began to pull down one of the walls of the green house. As he did the sun started to shine into the green-house touching the perfect roses. At first, they began to wilt but soon they longed for each morning to come and the warmth of the sun to touch their petals. They were changing. They too began to love the bees and the strength of the wind.
Resilience had been grafted into The Cultivator of Brilliance’s prize roses. He was overwhelmed with joy. He knew that the wild roses would always stay with the Creator for the Creator is the only one who knows how to grow true perfection, for He is perfect in every way. The Cultivator of Excellence accepted the wild roses and their environment. He rejoiced in their beauty and strength and knew that their environment was bringing change to his perfect ones for all are God’s creation and all are perfect when touched by the hand of perfection, their Creator.
Margaret Wright