My Thorn

… unwanted, unrequested, unsolicited but yet it is here, prickling and piercing, like a restless child demanding attention, acknowledgement and focus. Asked to be relieved of it but was told that ‘His grace is sufficient’ I honestly do not understand what that means, I just want relief from the constant jabbing of the thorn.

Occasionally, the thorn is not a thorn, but a flower, the most beautiful flower that fills my nostrils with the sweetest of fragrance. Soft and tender is my thorn today, my heart is beating fast, pulse racing, ripples of sweet sensation floods my being. Today I love my thorn, my thorn is not a thorn but a sweet smelling flower. How long can I hold my flower before it turns back into a thorn?

I am prickled! my flower is gone and I am left with a thorn, “take it away!” I cry. “No!” the voice came to me “he that will hold and smell the flower must have the thorn for a while”