What if love isn’t something that just happens to us, but something we cultivate?

This morning, I remembered a quote from the Bahá'í Writings:

In the garden of thy heart plant naught but the rose of love... — The Hidden Words, Bahá'u'lláh

It’s a beautiful image—heart as garden, love as a rose. But what does it actually mean to plant love?

I don’t pretend to fully understand what a “metaphysical love rose” looks like, but maybe the specifics matter less than the metaphor’s invitation: that we have a choice—and a role—in what grows inside us.

In a garden, you don’t just toss seeds and walk away. You water. You prune. You protect. You figure out what each plant needs, when to shade it, when to feed it. You show up, again and again.

The heart’s no different.

We don’t have full control. There are bugs, weeds, weather. Old roots that get in the way. But we can learn to tend, gently and consistently. Even the disruptions can be anticipated. We can check the soil. Pull weeds. Build little fences to keep out the metaphorical moles (tend sustainably, of course—no cruelty needed).

And we decide what goes in. That’s the power of this quote: we choose what to plant.

Bahá'u'lláh doesn’t say “plant whatever.” He asks us to plant only the rose of love. And sure, my pedantic side wants to argue—why not lavender or lilies or, I don’t know, tomatoes? But that misses the point.

Love is the seed we’re invited to plant. Maybe because it’s the most needed. Maybe because it takes time. Maybe because it roots deep and grows wide, if we let it.

And maybe we’re not always in a season where planting love feels easy. Life is hard. Grief can stretch long. Anger can feel like a wildfire. But even then—especially then—the garden metaphor gives permission. It says: love doesn’t have to bloom overnight. Plant it anyway. Water it. Let time do its part.

Eventually, something shifts. The roses grow. Their fragrance fills the air.

Different colors, different kinds—red for passion, white for peace, yellow for friendship. So many ways to love.

And when our heart-gardens are full of roses, people feel it. They’re drawn to the scent, to the softness, to the life growing within us.

So here’s the invitation:

Be conscious of what you’re planting. You can’t always stop the weeds, but you can choose to plant love.