On the side of our house grows a rosebush. It’s been there since we moved in almost eight years ago. I suppose someone planted it at one point, but we’ve never done anything for it. We don’t water it. We don’t feed it.
And yet, every summer, it produces dozens of lovely red roses. I intended to get a picture, but it didn’t happen and I’m not at home today, so you’ll just have to imagine.
It’s not even really where anyone can see it. As I said, it’s at the side of our house, and a pine tree blocks it from view of the road. So we see it when we walk around there, and the neighbors might, too.
It doesn’t care. It’s beautiful because that’s its purpose, not because others are watching.
And its beauty does not come from the work of man. The only thing we do is occasionally cut roses to bring in the house. It’s all up to God and nature.
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? – Matthew 6:28b-30