Last week, I walked by the rosebushes along my front walk and saw a depressing sight. While parts of the bushes were healthy green, about two-thirds of the canes were dry and dead. They had obviously not survived our winter-from-the-north-pole. “I’ve got to cut those back,” I said. “They look awful.” But, of course, I didn’t have time right that moment. So, I pulled a Scarlett O’hara and promised myself I’d do it tomorrow. Then, tomorrow turned into three days in which I never used our front entry. I came and went through the garage and didn’t give the dead rose bushes a thought. This morning, though, I stepped out the front door. And do you know what I found? Rose buds! Tons of them. Every single cane is dark green and covered with leaves. The dead stickery pieces are now completely alive and sprouting rose buds. I stood marveling at the sight and suddenly wondered what else I’ve given up on too soon. How often do I prune something back before its season has fully arrived? It is a subtle thing. Not something I can make a rule about, just something I’ll have to figure out in my soul. From now on, I’m going to be slower to cut. Slower to quit. Slower to discard something that looks completely dead. There might be rose buds yet.