So to keep me from becoming conceited… a thorn was given to me in the flesh… three times I pleaded with the Lord about this… but He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness”… Paul, in 1 Corinthians 12
Sometimes I wish it didn’t hurt so much.
But it does.
Some pain pressing in my flesh- jabbing.
The way I am walking in the thickets of the day and smelling the roses and lifting my head to the sunshine and piling up smooth pebbles like velvet to my fingers and lounging by the scent of the stream flowing and filling my basket-full with lovely loose daisies dripping…
until the thorn bites.
Sometimes it is out of nowhere- seen,
a flower in my hand and a song on my lips and a skip in my step and everything laced up– tied up and the world snug-warm and deep, held-near and grasped-dear… and then :::
There it is, like stretching itself out for blood and aiming bullseye- perfect for my happy.
sleeping beneath the petals pink,
Like it belongs there.
Like a thorn that belongs on the growing stem of the otherwise most beautiful rose…
Sometimes… I think no, it doesn’t.
It doesn’t need to be .right. there… on that rose, that I am picking to admire and place with my other prize-winning pretty petals.
Because that stings. That surprises. That just does not feel good.
Please, Lord, take it? Take my thorn?
And then:::: I think::::
Maybe it does. Maybe it does need to be.right.there.
But, that is where He has allowed it to be.
…to know and to believe the love that God has for us… +1 John 4
He created all things.
All things. The things we can touch and feel.
The things we cannot.
He is sovereign over everything. Every
He thought about the stem of the rose.
He made these things. All things…
For a purpose.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: But. It hurts.
When there is a barb pointed-irritating where I don’t expect:::
:::just when all is well and I just plain don’t want that.thorn.there.
But of course it does fit right there.
He has allowed it there. And that.
:::::::::::: is enough.
Because all is His.
All of it. His.
Even the thorns climbing, side-stepping of the stalk to lead to the right-resplendent rose.
At the pinnacle.
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. +1 Tim. 4
They are His, too.
Roses. They are sweet to the taste, sweet to the eye, sweet to the smell…
Everyone wants one.
And that is what the thorn grows for.
Not to harm the rose.
To protect it.
Safeguard and preserve. Cover and keep. Shield and shelter.
this piercing blood…
Perhaps, the thorn, the thing I might dread…
Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus… +Heb. 12
Perhaps it just keeps me…
Close to Him.
For when I am weak, I am strong. +1 Corinthians 12
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