Still Believing for Josiah

For ten plus years now, my dad has given me a rose on his birthday. Every year, a different color. Every year, a meaning rooted in Scripture. Every year, his quiet way of saying, “I’m still believing with you.”

When you’ve waited this long for something God promised, the people who keep believing with you become sacred gifts too.

He writes it on the card, “To Josiah’s mother.”

Not “if.”

Not “maybe.”

To Josiah’s mother.

Josiah is the name God spoke to my heart in 2012 for a child my husband and I are still believing will come.

This year, February 17th, his birthday, came and went… and there was no rose.

It didn’t hurt. It just made me pause.

I found myself wondering if the tradition had quietly ended. Why wasn’t it on his mind this year? Was he not thinking about it like before?

Because it isn’t just a flower. It’s the name on the card. It’s the belief behind it.

So later that evening, I mentioned it to my mom. I told her I hadn’t received a rose this year. She hesitated before admitting he had forgotten. He had even forgotten it was his birthday until the day of.

Once I had gently brought it back to his attention, I knew. It wasn’t coming that day. But it would come. That quiet confidence settled me.

Still, I wondered… should I have said anything?

Standing in the shower not long after, thinking it through, something shifted in me. It wasn’t wrong for me to have reminded my dad. I wasn’t accusing him or pressuring him. I simply brought up something he had been doing faithfully for years.

And almost immediately, I sensed the Holy Spirit whisper,

“It’s good to remind Me of My Word and My promises too.”

Not because He forgets, but because the covenant invites participation.

Scripture shows us this pattern. We bring God back to what He has spoken. We pray His promises. We stand on what He declared, not to test Him, not to demand proof, but to agree.

And then it happened.

A color dropped into my spirit.

Pink.

Not something I had been thinking about. Not a preference. Not even a color I like.

Spoiler alert… I hate pink.

But it was clear. Specific. Settled. The thought followed just as plainly: Ask God for a pink rose.

And this time, it did feel symbolic.

Pink as a sign that the name written on those cards for years, Josiah, is still there. That the promise attached to it is still alive. That God has not forgotten.

I know what my own thoughts sound like. I know what overthinking feels like. I know what desperation sounds like in my head.

This was different.

It was steady. Gentle. Distinct.

And yet… I still hesitated.

Should I even ask for that? What if I pray for something that detailed and it isn’t pink? What if what I believe gets crushed and doubt rushes in?

But this didn’t feel like striving. It didn’t feel like testing God. It felt like a Holy Spirit nudge.

So in that shower, I prayed it.

“Lord… pink.”

That was it.

All day on the 18th, I thought about it, knowing my dad would send one or that the florist would call to have me pick it up (small-town life). I imagined picking it up or opening the door to the sound of the doorbell. I imagined it being red or white or yellow. I prepared my heart not to overanalyze if it wasn’t pink.

And then I went to get it.

She came from the back holding a rose.

Pink.

Not close. Not similar. Pink.

And I froze.

I quickly ran back to the van so that I wouldn’t cry and overshare my story in front of her.

Once inside, I opened the card.

P.H. (stands for Punkin’ Head)

There are times in our life when we find ourselves feeling unnoticed, and forgotten. Often, this comes at the hands of those we love and trust. It’s as if we have been put into a moving box and then placed into storage. A once treasured piece now languishes unopened, while lesser boxes are unpacked and the items within are handled with care and attention.

I fear my failings caused you such a feeling yesterday. Somehow the annual rose slipped from my mind and landed among the debris of forgotten thoughts. But I know this; even though your earthly daddy will sometimes fail to live up to expectations, your Heavenly Daddy will never fail. He will never be so pre-occupied that He fails to notice you and your box of yet to be opened dreams.

And unlike your dad in flesh, Papa God will always be on time with the gifts He has for you.

The belated rose is pink, for pink is the color of gentle and unfailing love. The love of a parent to a child. The same love that will one day be realized when the Josiah boxes are not only opened, but the items are put to the use intended.

I love you, P.H.

Pa

By now, I’m ugly crying even harder.

I had already asked God for pink. I had already wrestled through the hesitation in that shower. I had already prayed the prayer I almost talked myself out of praying.

And now, through my dad’s words, it felt like Heaven was answering me twice.

Specific prayers make specific answers unmistakable.

There was no denying that this rose, though it came through my earthly daddy, felt sent straight from Heaven, confirming everything I already knew but time (and age) had slowly tried to erode. Josiah was a promise then, and he is still a promise waiting to be fulfilled now.

The rose didn’t come on the 17th.

It came on the 18th.

And I’m thankful.

This God wink, this confirmation, this quiet moment between Heaven, my dad, and me, was everything my heart needed as I round the corner of another year of waiting.

I might be thirteen plus years in, but I’m still receiving. Still believing. Still reminding Him of what He said. Still listening for the quiet things that drop into my spirit, and still brave enough to pray them even when I’m scared of disappointment.

Yes, I’m still believing for Josiah.

It is not too late, not at 42, not after ten plus years, not even after a delay.

The rose came on the 18th.

And it was pink.

I believed before.

But something about that pink made me stand even firmer.

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If you’d like to see the moment I picked it up, you can watch here.