We got roses.
Row-ziz.

It's a good year for the roses, oh yes. I went out in the drizzly misty twilight last night and picked about ten blossoms from various bushes in our yard. The previous owners loved rose bushes; there are about 50 of them, lining the fences and in the flower beds. I don't have a favorite, but I like the roses that smell good. Some have been bred for fancy colors and don't smell like anything.

There are some I know, like Mr Lincoln, and Chicago Peace, and American Beauty, and Double Delight. We got old roses, tree roses, antique roses, heirloom roses, climbing roses, bourbon roses, miniature roses, rambling roses, tea roses, regular old white and regular old red, yellow, orange, and all kinds of pink.

This winter we didn't have time to trim them back at all and guess what? they look fantastic.
They're beautiful.
But there are lots of thorns.

I keep running into conversations about free will and God. It's an important issue to me because I strive to live simply and honestly, and have found Christianity to contain the simplest set of rules for me to do so: Love one another is pretty simple.

But there are lots of thorns.