Branches and Trees

My friend, Lori, has lived in a wheelchair for over 25 years following a car accident.  Yet, she is one of the most content people I know.  When visiting her I marvel at the grace, gratitude and peace she exudes.  She knows that someday she will stand in the presence of Jesus Christ and her body will be whole, so is content to do what she can until that time comes.

She shared the following story with me a few years ago.

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.

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 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 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 that 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’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 all 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.                  —Author Unknown

My friend, Lori, has taught me much about acceptance and gratitude.  I often forget to thank God for the good things in life, then complain about the thorns.  What makes us think life should be easy and comfortable?

This year, join me in giving thanks for the thorns as well as the roses.  In God’s wisdom they all belong to the same plant.