Rosie’s Bubble Wand of Wuv

Rosie’s Bubble Wand of Love

Rosie, the youngest of my little angels, carried a “Bubble Wand of Wuv.” No one knew how she got it. No one knew why, but that little wand packed a holy punch — the kind that made sorrow blink and laughter bloom.

It was not magic, but something closer to a miracle — the kind that reaches through the walls of sadness and rescues joy.

She was just the baby.
So how could this be?
It’s the nature of Love, I should think.
Let us see.

Gracie and Luna, Rosie’s older sisters, distinctly decided upon a deeply desired decision, that they should know for sure what they surely would.

Namely that they would uncover the mystery of the hidden secret. Sh! So they followed their little sister as she toddled about the heavens in a luminous rosy glow.

“I used to do that!” said Luna.

“Of course you did,” whispered Gracie. “And usually blue...or pink...or then there was violet, lavender, periwinkle… oh never mind… just watch and sh!”

Her sisters watched as Rosie teased the heavenly bees who have no stings, only kisses and puffy cheeks.

“Achoo!” said Rosie, and the bees did twice the flowering and three times the honeying.

She then ran into the clouds of nine, not just once, but all the time.

Bouncing and frolicking, floating and bubbling, round and about and around and down and... oh my goodness, Rosie! “I’m in a tizzy — getting dizzy!”

She waved her hands and pinked them all… until she pinked a wall and got it all!

Gracie and Luna snickered and snickered as the nanny angels depinked their littlest sister, who would hold no still all the while.

Upon hearing the heavenly choir a‑singing, “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” Rosie joined in as best she could, “and made their tiny wings,” until she tumbled into the instruments — face, tiny wings, halo, celestial robes, and all. Oh my, what a clamor and a commotion!

But somehow after it all, and through it all, Rosie put on her smiles and straightened her halo, and don’t you know?

“Rosies are like that, I’d supposed,” announced the only Luna present.

And goodness gracious, Gracie agreed, “Shush and be quiet, whisper and always! For we must follow Rosie while she is not looking this-a-ways.”

If Rosie had known her sisters were about, she might have told them the “secret” they so dearly desired. But while they were surreptitiously watching, Rosie was auspiciously toddling — first this way, then around again. For joy did pull her this-a-way, and that-a-way, and every which-a-way besides.

But Gracie insisted older sisters must keep a watchful eye on the littlest, and Luna… well, Luna was imagining lots of bunnies — pastel ones with wiggly noses and poofy white tails.

But that’s Luna for you. We’d better continue with the story before the bunnies have friends over for tea and cupcakes.

And then the moment came when Rosie’s wand did produce.
She waved it about — wriggling and twirling and dancing and hopping — until she filled the atmosphere with so many bubbles that…

Rosie’s Too Many Bubbles

Luna blinked: “Dear sister, where’d she go?”

Gracie, her eyes a-rolling: “Through the laughter and under the giggles, between the harps and under the pews, she’ll spring up like a flower within the hour.”

And so she did! Rosie flew through the air like an eruption from a happy volcano of bubbles, circling over the playgrounds of the Lord to the delight of all God’s children. Chance of bubbles: one hundred and twenty percent.

Rosie’s Bubble Flight

And so finally that little cherub Rosie ran out of bubbles. She shook her wand with insistence, and splat — right in her face — came the last‑one bubble. Clapping and shrugging, she headed off with her wand to fill with miracle.

And so Rosie sang…

She passed the Warehouse of Mercies, the Warehouse of Virtues, and kept walking — all the way to the last one, the Warehouse of Treasures. Sneaking without a snickering followed Gracie and Luna.

As Rosie inside did go, the whole warehouse lit up in a radiant glow. She had no idea that this conspicuous light was sustained by her innocence, and the rose‑color was her charm.

Inside, it wasn’t gold or silver, not diamonds or rubies, not even hugs or snuggles.

It was bottles.
Bottles full of the tears of the saints.

Some small. Some large. Some dusty. Some elegant. And all with labels.

God's Treasures
Bottles of Tears

Little Gracie and Luna tiptoed in as quiet as the falling petals of a flower. Seeing all the bottles and labels, Luna asked softly, "What do they say?"

Gracie, the only one who could read, whispered the labels:
“Tears of Hannah. Tears of Mary.”

“Mary Christmas!” said Luna.

“Shh,” said Gracie.

By now Rosie was all the way in the back and still singing…

Seeing a particularly interesting bottle, Gracie picked it up and read: “Tears of… Mar— someone scribbled it out.”

Luna declared, “I fix it!”
And she shone her heavenly moonbeam, not realizing she was helping to restore all things — Providence missing no detail.

The bottle glowed softly in Gracie’s hands, and as the true name appeared, she whispered, “Tears of Naomi.”

“Who is Naomi?” asked Luna.

Gracie shrugged, “I dunno… must be really special.”

Then they saw them — two enormous bottles, towering over most the others.

Gracie read aloud:

“Tears of Job.” “Tears of Jeremiah.”

The girls were quiet. Impressed. Awed.

But Rosie kept going. She climbed the largest bottle in the back — so big it nearly touched the rafters.

She’d worn herself out flying, yet the determined little angel still fluttered her way all the way to the top.

She refilled her Bubble Wand of Wuv, so determined, humming to herself, so joyful.

Then she came down, smiling, and left, little knowing her sisters were keeping out of sight. As Rosie left, they rushed over to the big bottle.

Luna whispered, “What does the label say?”

Unable to see the label clearly, Luna shone a gentle moonbeam over the bottle, restoring the faded words forever into clarity.

Gracie then read: “Pawpaw’s Tears.”

Pawpaw’s Tears

Little Rosie, full of wonder and innocence, knew nothing of sorrow, but was drawn to her Pawpaw's Love. Love that Providence turned from grief into the pinnacle of His cherished treasures.

And in that moment, they understood with their hearts that love is drawn from sorrow. That joy is born from tears. That Rosie’s wand was filled with the ache of heaven and the laughter of healing.

That Pawpaw’s sorrow had blossomed into promise revealed, and his tears had become treasure.

And so it was.

Rosie and Her Bubble Wand of Love