The Blessed Thorn

Where would I be without this thorn in my flesh?

Resting on plastic laurels of pride and vainglory.

This thorn – it keeps me near His crown. It pricks me to my knees, where my heart learns humility, to the ground of a tear soaked garden.

Without this thorn – whither the rose? Whither the scarlet hue and scent of beauty? Whither the unfolding of life, rising from dark and secret places? Whither the bloom of rooted victory?

This thorn – it keeps me real. It keeps me wrestling. It keeps me desperate for the blessing that comes to those who persevere in His presence.

Without this thorn – where would strength break through my shell?

This thorn – through its piercing the whispers come: My grace is sufficient for thee. My power is made perfect in weakness. 

I will not despise this wound, for through it the lifeblood flows.

Without this thorn, oh whither the rose?


Lindsey Gallant
A northern girl living the island life. Learning "glad and natural living in the recognized presence of God." Writer, book nerd, nature lover. Homeschool mom and Charlotte Mason enthusiast. Prefers pen and paper.

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