THE VIOLET ROSE

(Or... On loving your neighbor as yourself...)

Once upon a time in a land not so far away there lived a little girl named Rose who had a beautiful rose garden. The little girl loved her garden and all the roses in it. Whenever she needed to get away from the trouble that little girls sometimes have, Rose would walk through her garden, fondly touch the roses and blissfully breathe in their fragrance.

All spring, summer and autumn, Rose was at peace with her roses. In the springtime, she would collect some of the teeny tiniest rosebuds and place them in pretty baskets on all the windowsills of her cozy cottage. When the sun beamed through the open windows, the rosebuds sparkled, and Rose felt as if she could almost smell the salt, feel the breeze and hear the waves of the ocean roaring many miles away. In the summer, Rose would spend hours watching her roses gracefully open their petals and subtly perfume the air. She would wait until the petals were almost ready to fall to the ground and then gently remove and place them in a special basket she saved just for this purpose. Then into the house she would gingerly carry her basket, making candied rose petals for cake and cookie decorations, and rose beads for rosary prayer ropes and bracelets, and sometimes even rose petal jam. Of course, she would let some of the petals dry right in the basket to treasure later on. In the autumn, Rose would go back to the rosebushes, pick the reddest, ripest rosehips, dry them and save them in a pretty tin on her shelf above the oven. Then all winter long until the first bloom of spring, she would drink rosehip tea and enjoy biscuits with rose petal jam.

However, early one morning when the sun was sweetly smiling, something terrible happened. In the far corner of the garden, to her horror, Rose spotted a single, decidedly unrosy weed, a solitary flower that was not even magenta or fuschia, but plainly purple. Walking toward this horrific sight, Rose decided, from the shape of the tangled roots peeking out of the ground, that this was a very old violet. Not knowing what to think, Rose spoke softly to the purple intruder, “Dear Violet, why don’t you go to the field over the hill where all the other violets are?’ Stunned, the wise old Violet whispered, “Dear little girl, I’ve been in this same spot since before you were alive and even before any of the roses were planted here. Why, when I was a young budding violet, this place was a field of multicolored wildflowers.” Adamant Rose accused Violet aloud, “Dear Violet, don’t you see you‘re spoiling my rose garden my being so proud? Please go away. You really don’t belong here all by yourself.” Devastated and mustering all her strength, Violet pleaded, “Little girl, all these many years this has been home to the beautiful bees, birds, butterflies, and me. Although you never noticed even once, I’ve been satisfied to remain unknown in your rose garden that you love so dearly. Please let me stay here in my home.” Rose stood her ground, ordering Violet to change, “If you would only try to act more like a rose, if you had a rosy color, or aroma, or rosehips in the fall…” Desperate, Violet apologized, “I’m so very sorry, precious child, for not being what you want me to be.” Undaunted, Rose faced Violet and demanded, “If you really are sorry, you will try to be more like a rose from now on.”

Violet promised to try to be more like a rose. Whenever the sun came out, she would stretch her petals toward the sky and concentrate very hard on being rosier. At night she would meditate on the roses all around her and imagine with all her might that she had become a tea rose, or a dog rose, or even a wild damask rose, depending on her intention. But the next morning, she would still be the same modest Violet. One afternoon Rose returned and sadly saw that there was no change at all. “You are just as much a violet as before”, Rose sighed. Violet was sympathetic to Rose’s sorrow, explaining, “Alas, as much as I would love to please you, I cannot be a rose. I have lost much sleep and become ill trying to change my nature. Now I realize that I can never make you happy the way I am, and my heart is heavy with sadness because I upset you so.”

Just as Rose began to turn away, she heard something crack. Violet’s heart was breaking, and her purple petals began to take on a rosy hue. Then the weak and frail Violet looked up at Rose and entreated, “This should make you happy, little one. Now at last I am starting to look like a rose.” Pangs of conscience pierced Rose’s whole being. All the roses in her garden swayed in her direction. Trembling, Rose begged, “Forgive me, dear Violet, I love you exactly as you are. Your hue was lovely and your petals velvety soft all these years. I know now that you have made my rose garden even more beautiful by innocently being yourself. Promise me that you will never again try to be a rose.” The moment Violet heard Rose’s plea, her heart was mended, and her petals once more became plainly purple, just like before. Violet’s petals glistened and Rose’s eyes twinkled. And from that time on, they both lived happily ever after, Violet in the rose garden and Rose in the cottage nearby.

Di's Note: After reading Glen Chancy's article on using fiction as a means of teaching Orthodox values, I was inspired to dig up this children's story that I had written on the autumnal equinox in 1994. I hope you and your little ones enjoy it.

And what do you think?

Many blessings,

Dianne Tzouras

Inspiring a community of discovery, healing, and purpose as a steward of nature’s living energy in essential oils.

dtzouras@mac.com

www.eleos.ws

www.eleos.biz

www.youngliving.org/eleos

and Angel's essential oil interviews at www.malista.com

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 [Di's 3rd Blog: Eleos, Early Learning through the Eyes of Orthodox Storytellers]

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