We are so darn determined to view life in extremes. Extremes we can handle. Republican vs. Democrat. Good vs. Bad. Pass vs. Fail. Win vs. Lose. How often does life actually fit in those extremes? As children, we assume our parents are perfect, good. As we get older, this is shattered a bit. Later, we start seeing the wounds they left behind (kept fresh by our own persistent self-destruction). Here is where we so often stop. Good vs. Bad.
Yet, pain is not unfriendly. It likes to share with all. Those who hurt have been hurt. Perhaps, we like to have these categories so we can keep ourselves in the good. If a person is either good or bad, then we must be good because surely we aren't bad. Right? All the while, we abhor people who mess up because deep down we know we mess up, too. We are slow to let others off the hook because we have yet to let ourselves off our own cleverly baited hook.
Life is often compared to a rose with thorns. Certainly, this is not a new concept. However, I wonder if after years of being stabbed by tiny thorns, we have decided it is much easier to avoid the rose altogether. We ignore the rose awhile. With time, the rose becomes appealing again. Anxious, we reach out with greedy hands, grasping the thorny stalk. And we are surprised when we are stabbed? Take love for example. Everyone has been hurt in love before. After awhile, we avoid it. Suddenly, we see it everywhere. We long for it. Quickly, we grasp love so tight we strangle it. The thorns dig deep into our pale flesh. All the while, the rose sits on top waiting to be noticed, to be enjoyed. The rose does not grow in beauty when it is throttled.
We can appreciate a rose in many ways. Sometimes, we notice a rose from afar. The bright color thrills our eyes with wonderment. When we reach out a hand to stroke the petals, the soft caress tickles our fingertips. When we bring ourselves to the face of the rose, a kiss of fragrance greets our lips. Life is not something to be harshly grabbed, then tossed away when pain results. Sure, thorns are real. They will always exist. However in comparison to the beauty that sits atop them, they are puny. Life, love, relationship, faith... all of these things have stems with potential thorns. When we try to grasp them on our own terms, we are hurt. Still, there is the occasional moment when we remember to bring ourselves to the rose. We allow life to fill our senses, love to fill our arms, relationship to fill our lonely corners, and faith to fill our empty, broken jars.
Break a rose into parts and you have thorns and a broken body, bleeding crimson red. Amazingly, even when we have torn apart the things designed to be good in this life, restoration lies in the pieces. A certain son took on thorns and a broken body so that those broken pieces could become whole again. Each time we rent apart the rose, a sacrifice is made. Perhaps, one day, we will look up and see the face of beauty, broken to make us whole.
