Flowers, fragrance and faith

Some years ago, we lived close to common land in Guernsey, where our home was surrounded by gorse bushes. It was the kind once used as fuel for ancient furze ovens and often despised by farmers and gardeners, who sometimes tried – usually without much success – to remove it from their land.

We were glad they failed.

Every spring, the gorse produced a spectacular display of flowers. Its fragrance was remarkable, sometimes even overpowering, especially for anyone with hay fever.

But to me it was an annual celebration of life. The sweet, enticing scent of vanilla or coconut became the fragrance of approaching summer.

The burst of brilliant colour was also a welcome promise of better days after the long haul of winter in our exposed location near the sea, where storms were never far away.

I often walked across that common land to pray.

Sometimes I would return home with my jacket or coat smelling of vanilla or coconut. Hang it in a cupboard and, before long, the whole space would be filled with that unmistakable scent.

I had pressed through the gorse bushes, brushing against the flowers as I walked and prayed. My clothing carried the fragrance of my prayer-walking.

Heaven’s fragrance

The bushes also had sharp thorns. At times I had to wince, tread carefully or press on as branches narrowed the path.

Yet the more difficult the way became, the more closely I brushed against those flowering bushes – and the more fragrance I carried away.

story continues…