the blessing of thorns

THE BLESSING OF THORNS

 

Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door.

 

Her life had been easy, like a spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a minor automobile accident stole that from her.

 

During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss. As if that weren't enough, her husband's company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come for the holiday.

 

Then Sandra's friend infuriated her by suggesting her grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer.  She has no idea what I'm feeling, thought Sandra with a shudder.

 

Thanksgiving? Thankful for what? She wondered. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life but took that of her child?

 

"Good afternoon, can I help you?" The shop clerk's approach startled her.

 

"I....I need an arrangement," stammered Sandra.

 

"For Thanksgiving? Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the Thanksgiving "Special?" asked the shop clerk. "I'm convinced that flowers tell stories," she continued. "Are you looking for something that conveys 'gratitude' this thanksgiving?"

 

"Not exactly!" Sandra blurted out. "In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong."

 

Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the shop clerk said, "I have the perfect arrangement for you."

 

Just then the shop door's small bell rang, and the shop clerk said, "Hi, Barbara...let me get your order." She politely excused herself and walked toward a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped: there were no flowers.

 

"Want this in a box?" asked the clerk.

 

Sandra watched for the customer's response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed.

 

"Yes, please," Barbara, replied with an appreciative smile. "You'd think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn't be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again," she said as she gently tapped her chest. And she left with her order.

 

"Uh," stammered Sandra, "that lady just left with, uh....she just left with no flowers!

 

"Right, said the clerk, "I cut off the flowers. That's the Special. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet."

 

"Oh, come on, you can't tell me someone is willing to pay for that!" exclaimed Sandra.

 

"Barbara came into the shop three years ago feeling much like you feel today," explained the clerk. "She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was into drugs, and she was facing major surgery."

 

"That same year I had lost my husband," continued the clerk, "and for the first time in my life, had just spent the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel."

 

"So what did you do?" asked Sandra.

 

"I learned to be thankful for thorns," answered the clerk quietly. "I've always thanked God for the good things in my life and never questioned the good things that happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask questions! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I have always enjoyed the 'flowers' of life, but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God's comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we're afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others."

 

Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. "I guess the truth is I don't want comfort. I've lost a baby and I'm angry with God."

 

Just then someone else walked in the shop. "Hey, Phil!" shouted the clerk to the balding, rotund man.

 

"My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving Special....12 thorny, long-stemmed stems!" laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator.

 

"Those are for your wife?" asked Sandra incredulously. "Do you mind me asking why she wants something that looks like that?"

 

"No...I'm glad you asked," Phil replied. "Four years ago my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord's grace and guidance, we slogged through problem after problem. He rescued our marriage. Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she learned from "thorny" times, and that was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific "problem" and give thanks for what that problem taught us."

 

As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, "I highly recommend the Special!"

 

"I don't know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life." Sandra said. "It's all too...fresh."

 

"Well," the clerk replied carefully, "my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God's providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don't resent the thorns."

 

Tears rolled down Sandra's cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. "I'll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please," she managed to choke out.

 

"I hoped you would," said the clerk gently. "I'll have them ready in a minute."

 

"Thank you. What do I owe you?"

 

"Nothing. Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year's arrangement is always on me." The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. "I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you would like to read it first."

 

It read: "My God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to You along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of Your rainbow look much more brilliant."

 

Praise Him for your roses; thank him for your thorns!

 

-- Nancy Leigh DeMoss

the cab ride.............

THE CAB RIDE

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.

I responded to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory in the industrial part of town. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needed my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knick-knacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.

I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done very many more important things in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider small ones.

-- Author Unknown

unemployment by abbott and costello from uncle charley

OKAY....LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT
                 

COSTELLO:   Hey….Abbott! How many folks don’t have jobs now?

ABBOTT:   Good question. Terrible times. It's 8%.

COSTELLO:   That many people are out of work?

ABBOTT:   No, that's 16%.

COSTELLO:   You just said 8%.

ABBOTT:   8% Unemployed.

COSTELLO:   Right 8% out of work.

ABBOTT:   No, that's 16%.

COSTELLO:   Okay, so it's 16% unemployed.

ABBOTT:   No, that's 8% .

COSTELLO:   WAIT A MINUTE! Is it 8% or 16%?

ABBOTT:   8% are unemployed. 16% are out of work.

COSTELLO:   IF you are out of work....you are unemployed? 

ABBOTT:   No, you can't count the "Out of Work" as the unemployed. You have to look for work to be unemployed.

COSTELLO:   BUT THEY ARE OUT OF WORK!!!

ABBOTT:   No, you miss my point.

COSTELLO:   What point?

ABBOTT:   Someone who doesn't look for work, can't be counted with those who look for work. It wouldn't be fair.

COSTELLO:   To whom?

ABBOTT:   The unemployed.

COSTELLO:   But they are ALL out of work! 

ABBOTT:   No, the unemployed are actively looking for work. Those who are out of work stopped looking. They gave up. And, if you give up, you are no longer in the ranks of the unemployed.

COSTELLO:   So if you're off the unemployment roles, that would count as less unemployment?

ABBOTT:   Unemployment would go down. Absolutely!

COSTELLO:   The unemployment just goes down because you don't look for work?

ABBOTT:   Absolutely it goes down. That's how you get to 8%. Otherwise it would be 16%. You don't want to read about 16% unemployment, do ya?

COSTELLO:   Crap no! 

ABBOTT:   Absolutely.

COSTELLO:   Wait....I got a question for you. That means there are two ways to bring down the unemployment number?

ABBOTT:   Two ways is correct.

COSTELLO:   Unemployment can go down if someone gets a job?

ABBOTT:   Correct.

COSTELLO:   And unemployment can also go down if you stop looking for a job?

ABBOTT:   Bingo! 

COSTELLO:   So there are two ways to bring unemployment down, and the easier of the two is to just stop looking for work.

ABBOTT:   Now you're thinking like a Washington economist.

COSTELLO:   I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I JUST SAID!!!!!

ABBOTT:   Now you're thinking like a politician.

I asked God.......

I ASKED GOD



I asked for a flower,



He gave me a garden.



I asked for a tree,



He gave me a forest.



I asked for a river,



He gave me an ocean.



I asked for a friend,



He gave me "YOU."

footprints...new version

FOOTPRINTS...A New Version



Imagine you and the Lord Jesus are walking down the road together. For much of the way, the Lord's footprints go along steadily, consistently, rarely varying the pace.



But your footprints are a disorganized stream of zigzags, starts, stops, turnarounds, circles, departures, and returns.



For much of the way, it seems to go like this, but gradually your footprints come more in line with the Lord's, soon paralleling His consistently.



You and Jesus are walking as true friends!



This seems perfect, but then an interesting thing happens: Your footprints that once etched the sand next to Jesus' are now walking precisely in His steps.



Inside His larger footprints are your smaller ones, you and Jesus are becoming one.



This goes on for many miles, but gradually you notice another change. The footprints inside the large footprints seem to grow larger.



Eventually they disappear altogether. There is only one set of footprints. They have become one.



This goes on for a long time, but suddenly the second set of footprints is back. This time it seems even worse! Zigzags all over the place. Stops. Starts. Gashes in the sand. A variable mess of prints.



You are amazed and shocked.



Your dream ends. Now you pray:



"Lord, I understand the first scene, with zigzags and fits. I was a new Christian; I was just learning. But You walked on through the storm and helped me learn to walk with You."



"That is correct."



"And when the smaller footprints were inside of Yours, I was actually learning to walk in Your steps, following You very closely."



"Very good.. You have understood everything so far."



When the smaller footprints grew and filled in Yours, I suppose that I was becoming like You in every way."



"Precisely."



"So, Lord, was there a regression or something? The footprints separated, and this time it was worse than at first."



There is a pause as the Lord answers, with a smile in His voice.



"You didn't know? It was then that we danced!"



To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: A time to weep, a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance.



Ecclesiastes 3:1,4.



Spread the Word and give thanks to the Lord for He is good!



It's not WHAT you have in your life, but Whom you have in your life that counts... Think about that.