Last winter I had the questionable privilege of spending some time in the hospital. It seems a virus activated my seldom-a-problem asthma. Never one to do things the easy way, I had this little problem in the midst of the worst snowstorm in years. Churches cancelled services. Even the big malls closed early. My doctor decided the best way to the hospital was by ambulance. When I heard that, I tried thinking of some way to disguise myself. I only had one previous ambulance ride many years ago, but I am told the ambulance people still talk about it.

On that first trip the ambulance stopped on the way to the hospital to pick up a paramedic. He jumped in and immediately starting examining me. "My name is Bill Sane," he said. "And I'm here to help you." My quick response was, "As long as you aren't In Sane, go for it."

He radioed the hospital reporting the patient had a pulse of 37 and was cracking jokes. I didn't want to be seriously ill, so I had cracked a sick joke. What was wrong with that?

After this year's exciting ride through snow banks, I arrived at the hospital and stayed there for four days-and four long nights. The first night I looked around my private room and wondered if there would be enough room on the windowsill for all the flowers I would surely receive from my many friends. By the end of the second day, I had only received one small bud vase with carnations. It seemed the tiny windowsill would be large enough.

Not even my husband had brought me flowers. I had made a grave mistake early in our marriage. He brought me flowers one evening when we were struggling financially, and I responded, "Honey, don't buy me flowers right now; we need to save our money." I didn't want to be freezing because the power had been shut off, starving, but looking at beautiful flowers. Evidently he only heard the "Don't buy me flowers" part when I wanted him to hear the "right now" part. Since that day I have seldom received flowers. Perhaps he will read this article and all that will change.

On my fourth day in the hospital, I saw some hope on the horizon. My sister-in-law, Shirley, brought me a beautiful long-stemmed red rose. While only one flower, it was a rose! I carefully put it into the small vase containing my only other flowers. I thought it was absolutely perfect in every way. Late the next evening when I finally got to go home, I had someone carry the other flowers, but I personally carried the rose. I shielded it in my coat to protect it from Michigan's harsh January temperatures.

As soon as I arrived home I put the rose into a vase of its own and set it right beside the kitchen sink. Daily I checked the water level, knowing I needed to take good care of the only rose I received. By early February I was amazed at how long that rose was lasting. I decided it must have something to do with all the love and attention I had given it.

Finally, on Valentine's Day, my husband ended his "no flowers" years. My friend Laura, who works at the post office right next door to the flower shop, had a little chat with him when he picked up the mail. She told him he would make a big hit if he brought me flowers.

He took her advice and came home with two long-stemmed red roses. I was thrilled and impressed. Now I had three beautiful red roses. That was pretty much a lifetime record! I set the lovely flowers on the table to grace the Valentine dinner I had prepared. Part way through the meal I looked at the roses. I was amazed at their similarity despite the fact that one rose was nearly three weeks old.

I got up from the table to take one last close look at this amazing rose before I phoned the Guinness Book of World Records. I discovered that, while the rose was still as perfect as ever, the stem seemed rubbery-almost plastic. Still amazed at my little BUDdy, I touched it very carefully. That was when I discovered that for more than two weeks I had been watering a silk rose!

At first I was disappointed I had not received a real rose. Then I laughed and decided it did not make a difference. The real gift was the love, not the rose. The real gift was that someone had loved me enough to drive 60 miles round trip to spend time with me in the hospital. The love was real even if the rose was not.

My smile continued to widen as I thought about the word "rose" and what a huge difference it has made in my life. I opened my Bible to 1 Thessalonians 4:13-14 and read: Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe Jesus died and ROSE again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in Him.

That is the real ROSE. That rose brings me hope and happiness every day. That rose will never fade or die. Because of that rose, I will never die. It is not a rose I have to hope someone will give me; I have already been gifted with that rose by Christ Himself. And no one can ever take it away from me.

Enjoy life. Smell the roses, remembering the One who ROSE!