Flower was a beautiful girl who wore a knee-length, pastel pink dress adorned with flora lace details and short sleeves. The flared skirt of the dress billows out as if caught in a gentle breeze.
She was in her garden surrounded by blooming pink rose. The sunlight filters through the leaves, casting a warm glow on the vibrant flowers.
While she was making a daisy flower crown, she wondered about who created this beauty. She touched her smooth brown skin and played with her dark and curly hair. She remembered that her friend, Agatha, told her that it was God. Agatha was a devout Christian. Flower was not a Christian. She didn't believe that God created this beauty as she believed that God was just myth. She believed that something or someone was responsible for this beauty. Flower didn't asked her friend, what made her think and believe that it was God. So she decided to asked her.
Flower went to her house and saw her upstairs, combing her flowing blond hair. When Agatha saw her, she beamed and gave her a sweet warm hug. "Flower. What brings you here?"
"You once told me that God created this and I didn't believe it. But I didn't ask you what made you think and believe this. So that's why I am here. To learn from your answer."
Agatha let her sat on her bed and offered her a Bible. This was the first time that Flower read the Bible. She flipped through the pages. Agatha explained that Bible was the evidence.
"But,” Flower countered, “couldn’t it be something else? Maybe a force beyond our understanding? Or perhaps it’s just the way things are—natural processes, evolution, science.”
Agatha smiled gently. “You’re not alone in those thoughts. Many wrestle with the same questions. But consider this: beauty isn’t merely a physical phenomenon. It stirs our souls, evokes wonder, and points us beyond ourselves. It’s a glimpse of something greater.”
Flower glanced at the Bible. “And this book—how does it prove anything?”
Agatha opened it to the Book of Psalms. “Listen,” she said, her voice soft as a prayer. “‘The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.’ When we look up at the stars, when we witness a sunrise, we’re glimpsing the Creator’s artistry.”
“But what about suffering?” Flower pressed. “What about the thorns among the roses?”
Agatha’s eyes held compassion. “Suffering exists, yes. But the Bible also speaks of redemption, of beauty rising from ashes. Jesus himself suffered, yet his sacrifice brought hope. Perhaps beauty isn’t just about perfection; it’s about resilience, transformation.”
Flower pondered this. She thought of the delicate petals and the thorns that guarded them. “Maybe,” she whispered, “beauty is a paradox—a fragile strength.”
Agatha nodded. “And perhaps God, in His wisdom, wove that paradox into creation. The beauty of a rose, the intricacy of a snowflake—they point us toward eternity.”
As the sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow across the room, Flower felt a shift within her. Maybe Agatha was right. Perhaps beauty wasn’t a mere accident, but a deliberate brushstroke on the canvas of existence.
She closed the Bible, its pages whispering ancient truths. “Thank you,” Flower said. “For sharing your faith.”
Agatha’s smile held grace. “Remember, Flower, beauty invites us to seek beyond what we see—to find the Artist behind it all.”
And so, in that quiet room, Flower glimpsed a truth that transcended her doubts—a truth that whispered of love, creation, and the mystery of existence. She left Agatha’s house with a daisy flower crown atop her head, the petals catching the fading sunlight. And as she walked back to her garden, she wondered if perhaps beauty was the language through which God spoke to her heart.
In the garden, surrounded by blooming pink roses, Flower felt a newfound reverence for the delicate balance of thorns and petals. She no longer saw beauty as a mere accident but as a sacred revelation—an invitation to seek the divine Artist who wove life’s tapestry. And as she touched her smooth brown skin and played with her dark, curly hair, she wondered if perhaps God’s fingerprints were imprinted on her very being.
And so, Flower continued to create her flower crowns, each petal a testament to the mystery of existence, and she whispered her gratitude to the unseen Creator—for the beauty that adorned her world and the questions that led her deeper into wonder.
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