I once knew a girl from Wisconsin who blinked naked.
She confessed to pulling out her eyelashes because she couldn’t help it.
Although it seemed strange to me, a popular phrase at the time, spilled like dangerous rapids into my mind and a death-trap out of my mouth:
“Whatever floats your boat.”
Who knew barren eyelids were only a symptom of a wasteland life?
Standing on opposite sides of a barbed-wire fence, the lush green pasture beneath me lay in stark contrast to the fallow ground under my country neighbor.
“Aren’t they pretty? I want to decorate one for Christmas!” She pointed to a patch of Cyran tumbleweeds beside her.
She was so earnest I didn’t have the heart to tell her by winter they’d be nothing but spine corpses. Or that was one of the weirdest things I’d ever heard.
So, I did what any damaged and empty, person would do. I rejected her. For good.
By December 25, her brother died by suicide. She and the rest of her detached family-like the prickly bushes she loved-rolled away.
The next spring, I heard an old, old story about a hill far away and a Savior who came from glory.
That baby born in a manger I’d celebrated the season before, turned out to be God’s Son all grown up. Sent from heaven to earth as the message of God’s love.
As proof, He went about doing good; healing the sick, opening blind eyes and deaf ears, and even raising the dead back to life.
So, why did people hate Him?
And if He was all-powerful, what good could possibly come from His horrific beatings, torture, and death on a splintered tree?
Jesus spiked to a cross. A thorn-crowned King.
Dying to save the world.
Dying to save me.
That is one of the weirdest things I’d ever heard.
Life from thorns?
So, I did what any damaged, empty person CAN do. I accepted Him. For good.
Winter’s lingered in my corner of the world. Record-breaking snowfall left our region freezer-burned and lifeless. And though it’s officially Spring, the days have been colored in dismal gray. Like a tombstone.
Yesterday, a stinging spat and hurt feelings between my husband me brought the same.
“Come here, there’s something I want to show you!” My husband called from the open garage door.
Shaking off my resentment and hurt, I reluctantly followed. He stopped near the utility boxes on the side of our house.
Was that a tumbleweed nest?
“Is that what killed our phone and internet connections?” I sighed.
My husband shook his head.
My breath caught.
Life from thorns.