The rose of hope

It was the summer of 2004 and our group was on its way for an adventure in South Africa. This was the first time I had led a mission team to a destination unsure of our responsibilities. Yet, I was willing to do so because I knew the missionary with whom we would work. So we arrived after two days of travel through London and finally Cape Town. After a short rest we loaded into a vehicle for the 11 hour trip north to the Northern Cape. Our destination was a community called Upington which was situated on either side of the Orange River. This seemed to be one of the entry points of refugees fleeing the instability of countries to the north. Families would make their way to the outskirts of Upington into what are called "squatter" camps. South Africa would take a plot of ground and install water lines and electric lines. As refugees would come, the would claim a small parcel of ground and begin to build a shelter for the family. Anything became a part of the shelter.Scrap metal, sheet metal, wood pieces, anything gets assimilated into the little house that emerges on the property. Water is available at a valve sometimes a quarter of a mile from the little house. Frequent trips are made each day. Then when the family is safe from the elements, many of the new residents do something rather unexpected--at least to me. They plant a flower. It may require someone to walk a total of a mile to keep the plant alive. But they are willing to walk the distance and make the trip.
The squatter camp changed the way I look at flowers. No more just decorations, or a part of a well landscaped plot of ground or estate. Flowers for the refugees was about hope.
Since that time, I have had the occasion to travel in parts of the world that have found freedom after years of oppression. In Eastern Europe among the dreary blocks of apartment complexes once manufactured for the masses, I saw flowers, flowers, lots of flowers.
Having photographed all kinds of flowers, I think I understand a little of the appeal. First, there are the colors. In a dreary world, the colors are appealing. But then, one can get lost in gazing at the parts of the flower and how intricately they are made. Each is different, yet so much the same.
Flowers are a simple thing. But I have learned to not take them for granted. You have to have been in a position of despair to appreciate what one flower can do.