It was Shrek, the greatest animated ogre of the twenty-first century who said, “Blue flower, red thorns! Blue flower, red thorns! Blue flower, red thorns! Oh, this would be so much easier if I wasn’t colour-blind!”
I was always a sensitive child. It took years and years to learn how to hide my feelings – even then – it wasn’t easy and it didn’t work well. I had been taught that displays of emotion, especially those accompanied by tears, were a sign of weakness; weak people have no pride or self-respect – they let people walk all over them. I never understood what I was being taught, but like much of my time spent in school – I faked it pretty good – I fooled a lot of people. My proficiency in holding myself together increased, so I thought, but every now and then the dam would give way and I’d feel as if I was drowning in a flood of tears, swimming in failure.
I cursed my sensitivity. I wished I couldn’t feel. I became angry with God for making me such a sap; I felt as if He was laughing at me, messing with my head. He made me weak! Just when you think you’ve got things all together – you’ve got your head on straight and tight …
A friend and I were discussing the perpetual thorns that seem to poke at us as we do life – with others, with family, with God. What the thorn is doesn’t really matter – it’s the root of the matter that is significant. It seems as though that thorn always knows where to dig, jab, or stab, and when.
This past year – OY – it’s hurt. As I compose this post, it occurs to me that I can’t remember having cried so many tears before. But I want to share something with you: this past year has also been the greatest year of my life because of and despite the hurt. Blue flower, red thorns.
God has shown me that without the abundant portion of emotion He’s given me – He’s blessed me with – I wouldn’t need Him the way I do. I wouldn’t desire to be His favourite daughter, or His BFF, or a servant after His own heart. I wouldn’t hurt about what hurts Him. I wouldn’t feel compassion for those He loves. I wouldn’t be grateful for what I've been given, what I’ve been taken through, for how much and well I’ve been loved nor would I appreciate the cost of that love. None of that would make a difference if I couldn’t feel.
I am learning to live life and to love life with that thorn. I am finally grasping the truth that the thorn doesn’t make the rose any less beautiful. I don’t want to go through life in black and white. I don’t want to be colour-blind anymore.
I’ll be that flower – thorn and all – because I know I was fearfully and wonderfully made; I know that full well.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Cor. 12:9.
