Life, in its most profound moments, often mirrors the paradox of a rose: exquisite beauty intertwined with formidable thorns.
It's a sentiment famously captured by Abraham Lincoln, reminding us that our perspective shapes our experience – whether we lament the thorns or celebrate the roses. This timeless wisdom resonates deeply with my own journey, particularly when reflecting on the intricate twining of relationships and purposeful living.
Looking back at my younger years, I can distinctly recall the fervent energy I poured into romantic idealizations. My journals/notes/chicken scratches/memories from that era brim with entries about fleeting connections and an almost consuming desire to find a life partner in my twenties.
It felt as if the societal currents of the time, coupled with a shrinking pool of eligible young men as friends moved on and joined or were drafted into the military, magnified this internal yearning. There were brief, immature relationships, each one a learning curve, a subtle thorn that, at the time, felt like a significant misstep. Yet, these experiences, though sometimes painful, served to refine my understanding of love and companionship, shaping the woman I was becoming and am presently.
Then, a new chapter began. My future husband was away, engrossed in his studies in another state. While he was gone, life continued with a vibrant energy; we, as a community, shared meals, attended church, collaborated on projects, and dreamed of future possibilities. It was a time of joyous camaraderie and burgeoning self-discovery.
When he returned, our paths converged in a way I hadn't anticipated. What blossomed was a partnership that would define the next forty eight years, embarking on an extraordinary journey as home missionaries with Gospel Recordings for twenty of them.
Our life together was anything but a smooth, unblemished path. It was a rich landscape of experiences: profoundly exciting, yet often financially lean; incredibly challenging, but always brimming with new insights.
There were moments of stark difficulty, trials that tested our resolve and faith. It’s tempting, in hindsight, to assign the "thorn" to these hardships, or even to the complexities inherent in any long-term partnership. However, as the poet Martha Snell Nicholson so eloquently penned in "The Thorn," sometimes the most piercing gift is precisely what God uses to "pin aside the veil which hides His face." These challenging periods were not merely obstacles; they were catalysts that revealed deeper truths, fostering growth and strengthening our bond in ways that ease never could.
Charles Martin’s poignant observation often comes to mind: "Thorns don't stop you from sniffing. Or putting them in a vase on the kitchen table. You work around them.... Cause the rose is worth it... Think what you'd miss.” This wisdom encapsulates the essence of our journey. Our life together was certainly thorny, demanding resilience and unwavering faith. Yet, it has also been abundantly rich, filled with moments of profound beauty, purpose, and love that far outweighed any struggle. The fragrant 'roses' of shared mission, deep companionship, and spiritual fulfillment have made every single 'thorn' not just bearable, but ultimately, invaluable.
Indeed, without the thorns, the roses themselves might not endure; they serve as a defense, protecting the very beauty we cherish. This profound truth, mirrored in both nature and scripture (2 Corinthians 12:7-10), continued to guide my perspective.
Life’s true richness lies not in the absence of struggle, but in the ability to find and appreciate the fragrant roses that bloom alongside – and often because of – the thorns.
The Thorn
"I stood a mendicant of God before His royal throne
And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, “But Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me.”
He said, “My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee.”
I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face."
by Martha Snell Nicholson
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