THANKS--FOR THE THORNS?

Got thorns in your life? Like sorrow? Financial troubles? Job challenges (or challenge of unemployment)? Family conflict? People in general who are hard to get along with? Physical or mental health challenges? Whoever said “life is not a bed of roses” must have endured life's stabs and pricks from difficult experiences or people. Some have even worked their “thorn wounds” into books with that saying in the title. I haven't seen one (yet) titled, “Life is a bed of rose petals.” The thorns come with the petals.

Sometimes life seems too full of emotional and physical “jabs.” Some years ago someone jabbed me with negative accusations and nicknames in person, by phone, and by notes and E-mails. The verbal abuse hurt...for a long time. God and I had lots of conversations about forgiving that person.

Here's the truth: thorns are part of living in a fallen world. Roses are lovely to see and smell, but their stems have this “fallen accessory,” called thorns. But be thankful for the thorns? When you live with pain or an incurable physical problem? When you deal with human brokenness (your own or others')?

Maybe instead of complaining about our own “thorn”--whether physical, mental, or spiritual—we need to look around to see how others successfully deal with theirs. I'm regularly reminded of the outlook by a Scotsman named George Matheson (1842-1906). He began going blind at age 17 while studying for the ministry, and a few years later was completely without sight. He loved a woman—and she him—until blindness began. Unable to cope, she broke the engagement. He never married, but with others' help (including a sister who became his “eyes” for reading and writing) he went on to become a respected and beloved minister.

Every time I read this quote from him, I am moved:

My God, I have never thanked You for my thorn. I have thanked You a thousand times for my rose, but not once for my thorn. I have been looking forward to a world where I shall get compensated for my cross, but I have never thought of my cross as itself a present glory. Teach me the value of my thorn.

There's a powerful word for such an attitude: surrender. None of us will have a perfect life. “The perfect life” ended in Eden. But in this fallen, wounded world, we can surrender our broken dreams and hurts to God, remembering He is the master “arranger” of all the thorny stems of our lives. And what He can bring out of the pricks and wounds of life's hard places—when lived-out with gratitude and trust—what can become His showcase to the world.

Yes, His beautiful, artfully arranged, life-bouquet.

OUCH!

 A dozen-plus roses—some of them forty-plus years old--fill a planting area next to my driveway. My youngest grandson has a naughty habit of taking the quickest route from Mom and Dad's car to the front door, which puts him at risk of lots of thorns grabbing his clothes. He just doesn't listen to his Nana's warning, “Go on the driveway pavement, NOT through the roses.” Well, he's six. What more can I say? Each spring I tend to each bush, carefully cutting away dead stalks and trying to achieve a “bowl” shape with the remaining healthy stalks. If I have done my job correctly, by May I will have a lovely bouquet to pick from the new branches.

But, oh, those thorns! I have a sensitivity to thorn pricks in my hands. If one gets through my thick leather gloves, I head to the kitchen to make a paste of water and MSG (used for meat tenderizing), which seems to help the allergic reaction. The other day when this happened, my thoughts randomly went back to my high school days and that troubled era when some of my classmates were shipped off to the Vietnam War, some never to return. My husband's family had a relative who joined the military and died shortly after landing in Vietnam.

We don't talk much about that conflict. Hopes of liberating Southeast Asia didn't work out. Their fighters' primitive assault strategies helped turn things in their favor. My roses, with their mean thorns, remind me of some of the “weapons” the enemy used: like camouflaged holes in the jungle trails which sent any who stepped on them into deep pits of lethal spikes, grenades, poisonous snakes, or scropions. If you're curious, just search “booby traps” on the internet. You'll learn more than you want to know.

Sadly, booby traps aren't limited to national warfare. They're all around us through social interactions with folks whose minds aren't working as the Lord intended. Instead of loving and affirmative, they're mean-spirited and bitter. Their words—spoken or written—are like booby traps, apt to trip you up and hurt you when you least expect it.

When I've been wounded in such a situation, I'm grateful for God's assurances that He is in control. There's nothing such people can do, as mean as they may get, to separate me from His love. In my young adulthood, when I was dealing with some negative people and situations, the Lord prompted me to memorize some scriptures about victory and perseverance. One was the end of Romans 8:

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or sword? As it is written, 'For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.' No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us” (vv. 35-37).

God's Word says it. I claim it. If I am in right relationship with the Savior, no traps of human deceit, lies, or unfounded accusations can separate me from God's love. The going may get rough at times. But He knows what's on the path ahead. Sometimes He'll warn me to stay away from emotional danger pits. Other times He shows me the safer detour. In this life, I won't escape thorny relationships or hurtful circumstances. But I remember that at the end, God will redeem my pain.

My favorite quote regarding this comes from George Matheson (1842-1905), a Scottish pastor who was blind and single all his life: “My God, I have never thanked Thee for my thorns. I have thanked Thee a thousand times for my roses, but not once for my thorns. I have been looking forward to a world where I shall get compensation for my cross: but I have never thought of my cross as itself a present glory. Teach me the glory of my cross; teach me the value of my thorn.”

THORNY PEOPLE

Ouch!--from my spring rose-pruning

Thorny people—you know who they are! They find it easy to pout (poor me!) and spout (terrible them!). I thought of those two negative words in reading Anne Graham Lotz's Wounded by God's People (Zondervan, 2013). Lotz, author-speaker and daughter of the late evangelist Dr. Billy Graham, pulled fresh-to-me lessons from the complicated Old Testament story of Sarah and her maid, Hagar. Lotz' application is not limited to believers wounding other believers, but the whole picture of choosing revenge and anger over trust and kindness.

First, a recap of Hagar's story from Genesis 18 and 20-21. Hagar was barren Sarah's handmaiden. When Sarah gave up the idea of getting pregnant in her old-old-age (despite an angelic visitation telling her it would happen--sometime), she told Hagar to “sleep” on her behalf with her century-old husband Abraham. He got her pregnant and Hagar gave birth to a baby boy, Ishmael, whose name means “God will hear.” This wasn't the way God intended for Abraham's lineage to be carried on. Then, at an age 91 miracle, Sarah got pregnant and gave birth to Isaac. His name means “laughter,” and why not? It was a joyous, crazy occasion. (Probably in those middle-of-the-night feedings she had to remind herself of his name!)

Fast forward a bit. In the meantime, Isaac's half-brother Ishmael (via Hagar) was starting to grow whiskers and pimples. Not wanting this kid around, reminding her of her failure to believe God earlier, Sarah decided to terminate Hagar's “employment.” The maid and her son were sent off to the wilderness.

Just imagine Hagar's thoughts as she and the famished, thirsty boy sought shade from the blasting sun out in the middle of nowhere. Death was imminent--until God (via an angelic helper) intervened, provided some miracle water, and sent them on.

On one level, this is a story of family anger and heartless abandonment. But it's also a reminder that God, in His wisdom and eternal plan, can work through times when others wound us. Lotz pointed out that our typical response in “wounding” is to focus on the faults of others: “It's not me. It's them! And even if it were me, what I did to them wasn't as hurtful as what they did to me. So, it's still them!” (p. 92).

But Lotz suggested another way of processing life's wounds—of asking questions like these:

• “Do you want your life characterized by the result of remaining focused on 'them' while being blind to your own pride, arrogance, anger, resentment, name-calling, vengeful digs, schemes for revenge, or vicious gossip disguised as prayer requests?”

• “What are you living for? Instead of living your life to the glory of God, are you driven by a desire to get even, vindicate your actions, prove someone else wrong, justify your opinion, expose the other person, get your own way?”

• “Consider carefully...do any of these desires truly honor God?” (p. 93)

To put it in a nutshell, whether we're wounded (or wound-ers), we face two choices: pout and spout....or trust and obey. I know, as that 1887 hymn by John Sammis says, the better choice is: “Trust and obey, for there's no other way, to be happy in Jesus....but to trust and obey.”

Not always easy, but it's God's way of moving on from conflict that dishonors Him.

GROAN--HOW MUCH LONGER? (Psalm13)

Part of a continuing series on 48 psalms that speak to “feeling down.”

Stuck in a thorny situation!  That’s the main complaint of Psalm 13, that David wrote during one of his many “feeling hopeless” times.  Four times he wails, “How long?” (my paraphrase):

*How long—forever?---will you forget about me, God?

*How long will it seem that You, God, have hidden Your face?

*How long must  I deal with negative and sad thoughts?

*How long will the enemy seem to have the upper hand?

What I like about this psalm is that David is talking to God  about his serious doubts. He’s not giving up his faith, although it’s a bit ragged right now. We don’t know his precise circumstances but he sounds like he’d come to the end of his rope, again, in staying a step ahead of King Saul and his murderous desperados.

The things that put me in a funk aren’t as life-threatening as David’s. But at different times in my life I have run into spiritual mountains I cannot scale, deep river gorges I cannot cross—except for God.

 But the big “BUT” is the word to hang on:

But I trust in your unfailing love; My heart rejoices in your salvation. 

I will sing to the LORD for he has been good to me.

David’s saying, “We have a history together, God.  You’ve helped me in the past. First of all, I thank you for the gift of salvation that allows me to be in relationship with You and trust You. Then I just need to praise You.  Where’s my harp? That’s how I express my ‘love language’ to God. I’ll sing a song that praises God’s goodness.  That may not solve my problems immediately, but it will keep my focus on God, who rescues and helps me.”

Thorns are part of life.  But even a cactus can put out a blossom, like a reminder of God’s help even when life seems sticky for much too long.

THOSE THORNY QUESTIONS

Buds are emerging on our rose stems, but oh, the thorns!

Why is life at times so thorny? I’ve asked myself that many times in the past few years—and not just during my spring rose-pruning duties. Thorny problems and relationships are part of our sin-filled world. We usually complain about them. But I was recently reminded of the better perspective expressed by Dr. George Matheson (1842-1906), a renowned Scottish preacher who endured life blind:

My God, I have never thanked Thee for my thorn.  I have thanked thee a thousand times for my roses, but not once for my thorn.  I have been looking forward to a world where I shall get compensated for my cross, but I have never thought of my cross as itself a present glory.  Teach me the value of my thorn.

Of course, any reference to a “spiritual thorn” leads inevitably to Paul’s use of that term. At some time (perhaps when nearly stoned to death?) he had a vision of Heaven, too wonderful to express in earthly terms.

But to keep me from getting puffed up, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger from Satan to torment me and keep me from getting proud.  Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away.  Each time he said, “My gracious favor is all you need.  My power works best in your weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may work through me. Since I know it is all for Christ’s good, I am quite content with my weaknesses and with insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Corinthians 12:7b-10 NLT)

What was the thorn?  Nobody knows.  Some ideas: malaria, epilepsy, an eye disease (inferred from Galatians 4:13-15). Whatever, it was chronic and debilitating, interfering with his ministry. Its presence kept Paul humble and dependent on God to just get through the day.  Somehow, seeing Paul’s strength in weakness inspired those around him who had their own version of a disabling “thorn.”

And these lessons still apply. We’re tempted to rely on our own cleverness or abilities to get by in life. But when we’re faced with our true selves, we have a choice: curl up and complain, or trust God for His will in His time.

I sense that lesson in Dr. Matheson. When he aspired to become a pastor—just as his sight was going—naysayers probably suggested it wouldn’t work out. But God provided a way through his devoted sister, who herself learned Greek, Latin and Hebrew to help him in his theological studies. Throughout his life she helped with his pastoral and calling duties.

Most hymnals still include “O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go,” whose lyrics came to him with such fluency and speed one night that he attributed it to “a dayspring from on high”—the Lord’s inspiration.  The key words of its four verses are “love,” “light,” “joy,” “cross.” All remind me of the Lord Jesus, the One who showed us God’s love.  Who called Himself the “Light of the World.”  And who, “for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God” (Hebrews 12:2 NIV).

All because of a Love that will not let us go.

He is risen! He is risen indeed!

Bed of thorns

Imagine three sets of robber-masked eyes staring at you from a nest next to your back-yard fence. It happened to me one morning, working in the back yard, when I sensed our cat unusually nervous. Following his gaze, I was shocked to see three raccoons just feet away in this half-hidden perch on the roof of a ramshackle shed. I grabbed the garden horse and aimed it at them, yelling “shoo!” as they reluctantly turned and left. Then, remembering reading how such critters despise urine smell, I sprayed the nest with household ammonia.

We live toward the edge of our little town, with a large undeveloped, junky lot on the other side of our fence.  Our trees disguise the “view,” but they also provide an up-and-down staircase for local raccoons searching for berries or the small bowl of dry cat food we once left outside. (Not any more!) After drenching the tree-needle-padded “nest” with ammonia, I stacked it with prickly dead tree branches and thorny branches pruned from our roses. These, I hoped, would put the perch into their “don’t-visit” list.

 I was reminded of my “prickle-the-nest” incident while recently reading J.I. Packer’s Knowing God. In chapter 16 about God’s “goodness and severity,” Packer said we need to appreciate the discipline God chooses to put in our lives. Too many people, he said, look at God as a celestial Santa Claus who supplies happy times and gifts on demand. But such attitudes trifle with God. God may, Packer said, put “thorns in your bed…to awaken you from the sleep or spiritual death—and to make you rise up to seek his mercy.”  For believers, such “bed-thorns” may be part of God’s discipline “to keep you from falling into the somnolence of complacency and to ensure that you ‘continue in his goodness’ by letting your sense of need bring you back constantly in self-abasement and faith to seek his face” (Knowing God, IVP, 1973, p. 166).

When our life’s “nest” settles into a comfortable spot, and we find thorns in the way, there may be a spiritual reason. Packer pointed to two scriptures for “why.” Hebrews 12:5, reminds us not to make light of the Lord’s discipline. And second, Psalm 119:71 takes us to the higher ground of thanking God for correction:  “It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn your decrees” (Psalm 119:71).

Early one morning this spring, I again saw a backyard raccoon--one that looked to be twice the size of our cat. When he saw me, the 'coon scampered up the tree and away. Thankfully, our cat was inside this time. I checked the condition of the “nest” and found it needing a new supply of “prickles.”

I'd like to have prickle-free living, but I also want God to shape my life. Sometimes that brings temporary discomfort until I move on to His much-better plan

Beauty and the thorn

Part of a continuing series inspired by sights of Kauai.
Ow! A tiny rose thorn had punched through my garden gloves and found a deep hiding place in my thumb. Digging with a sterilized sewing needle wouldn’t budge it, so I covered that area with a bandage and went on with life, trying to ignore the pain. How could such beautiful flowers emerge off such unfriendly stems?

 A similar thought came as I rediscovered bougainvillea growing throughout Kauai. The same flowering vine grew by the front porch of my childhood home in Los Angeles. I was warned to stay away from it because of the thorns. But the delicate, paper-like blooms were so fascinating!

Bougainvillea, which thrives in tropical climates, received its unusual name in 1768 when a botanist discovered it in Brazil. The scientist was aboard a ship commanded by Admiral Louis de Bougainvillea, and Brazil was one stop on the admiral’s quest to become the first Frenchman to circumnavigate the world. He did so, surviving sailing through the treacherous tips of South America and Africa. From its native South America, bougainvillea spread around the world, with 300 species now identified. Their colors range from white to apricot, pale to dark pink, and bright to bluish red.  The vine’s heart-shaped, paper-like three-leaf “blooms” are actually bracts, from which emerge the small white tubular flower.

Plus thorns.

Thorns, of course, have a powerful spiritual analogy for life. I’ve certainly wrestled with personal application of Paul’s perspective on “thorns.” He admitted having a frustrating condition that impaired him and simply wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he prayed about it.

To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations [visions of heaven], there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.  Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. (2 Corinthians 12:7-10, emphasis added)

Years ago, amidst a time of many “throny” problems, I learned a simple chorus that often comes back to me as hope. Try singing this to the tune of “Blessed be the tie that binds,” then thank God for the flowers beyond your “thorn.”

As thy day so shall thy strength be.
My grace is sufficient for thee.
My power’s made perfect in thy human weakness,
My grace is sufficient for thee.

Pruning the Prickles

I’m always glad when my annual task of pruning the roses is over.  Despite wearing leather gloves and long sleeves, I inevitably end up with punctures and scratches. I have to wash them quickly with soap, as I tend to itch and swell if I don’t. One slow bush at a time, I reach in to snip off a dead cane or trim suckers, all the time thinking of the “bowl shape” that’s best for rose health. This slow, tedious task also gives me a chance to think and pray for people in my life.

 The Bible says healthy spirituality mandates pruning. The most direct teaching about that comes with Jesus discourse about the vine and the branches in John 15. (As an aside: long ago in Bible school we had to memorize the main theme in each chapter of John.  I remembered “15” because the “1” looked like a straight vine and the “5” like a crooked vine needing pruning. That’s your freebie of the day!)  Jesus said the Father (the gardener) cuts off every branch that doesn’t produce fruit and prunes the fruit-bearing branches so they can produce any more.

The unfruitful branches are like those who’ve made a superficial commitment to Christ (most likely they show up at church and speak the “church language”) but don’t reproduce spiritually. The analogy to my roses is canes that are spindly with barely a weak bloom.  Off they go. I preserve the stalwart main canes and others branching off them that show promise of bearing flowers.

I also trim any sign of disease, a discernment that brings to mind to mind Galatians 6:1:

Dear brothers and sisters, if another Christian is overcome by some sin, you who are godly should gently and humbly help that person back onto the right path. (NLT)

Who of us is perfect?  But sometimes God needs us to step in to help someone who may be blind to a sinful  behavior or attitude. Someone recently told of an uncomfortable encounter when he could no longer overlook another believer’s negative, self-righteous behavior as a “grammar police.”  For years, that other person got prickly whenever someone used a certain innocent idiom in her presence. No matter if it happened in church announcements or at the store. You can guess how strangers felt when she got upset and “corrected” them. “Major on the majors,” he reprimanded her.

The passage says “gently and humbly” help that person back onto the right path. The cuts of the Pruner (and His helpers) may hurt, but the pain will be forgotten when those wonderful blooms come.

Thorns

Our yard has more than a dozen rose bushes, beautiful this time of year—but ouch! Those thorns! About a block away, a neighbor has a minimal-upkeep yard with rocks and cactus plants. Beautiful when they bloom—but ouch! Their thorns!

“There was given to me a thorn in the flesh,” wrote the apostle Paul (2 Cor. 12:7). As much as he prayed about it, he was never healed of this unnamed issue. Instead, God used it as a way to teach him (and the rest of us) that “My grace is sufficient for you.” It’s an important truth for the folks who think that the more you pray about an issue, like a health or relationship problem, the more likely you’ll experience healing or have the problem removed. Yes, God hears our prayers, but He doesn’t always answer them the way we think He should. “Prayer-storming” the throne is like whipping up votes for a favorite cause. It’s not the way God works. Often He leaves us smack in the middle of our “thorns.” When we don’t see God’s perspective, we often whine, “Why has God left me?” or “Why has God let me down?” The truth is this: He can use thorns.

Several years ago a friend send me an E-mail forward that has probably gone around the world a few times. Titled “Thorns,” it’s a fiction about a young woman who miscarried after an auto accident. Full of gloom, she walked into a florist shop. Before she could make her selection, other customers came in for the “Thanksgiving Special.” She was incredulous when they left with boxes of thorny rose stems, no blooms. Each had a story of profound loss, even greater than that of the disillusioned mother.

Finally the clerk told of her own losses, and how she learned to be thankful for how the “thorns” of life helped her discover the beauty of God’s comfort. “Don’t resent the thorns,” the clerk said. The young woman took home her first bouquet of thorns, along with a card that said: “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.”

The essence of this quote comes from Moments on the Mount by George Matheson, a Scottish preacher and hymn-writer. His best known hymn, which includes some of those phrases, was “O Love, that will not let me go.” Matheson’s “thorn” was blindness. But he also had a phenomenal memory which enabled him to memorize sermons and minister to a congregation of 2,000 in Edinburgh.

It’s not lost on me that the friend who sent me this popular E-mail story had an excruciating thorn in her life. Cecilia spent decades in a wheelchair as a form of muscular dystrophy progressively froze her body. Before becoming a Christian, she was angry at God for her disease. After she yielded her life to Christ, there was a change to accepting her physical thorn and seeing what God could do through her. I remember her vibrant smile, her prayerful interest in others, and her desire to be a beacon for Christ in the building for special-needs people where she lived. She also volunteered in school reading programs, her wheelchair putting her eye contact at just the right level for grade school children.

One time I visited her, she confided, “I just feel it won’t be long for me here.” A few months later, suffering with a respiratory infection, she asked personal-care aides to leave her in her motorized wheelchair for the night, rather than putting her in bed. It was too hard to breathe. During the night she fell out of her chair, breaking many bones. A few days later, she went to be with the Lord she loved.

Have you despised your life thorns? Do you need a Thanksgiving Bouquet?