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They want to leave it all behind; take the road out of it all. So, the two men depart from the hills of Jerusalem to get away from all the reminders of a heartrending crucifixion on the hill of Golgotha. Just as the road slopes down from Jerusalem, so their souls now slope down, reeling from dashed hopes of an empty tomb.

With the Sabbath now past, the two men somberly amble their way to the village of Emmaus, just a little more than seven miles away.

One would think that the crisp, clear sky, the warm afternoon sun, and the aroma of spring buds in the air would revive their souls. Not so.

In their attempt to leave behind the pain and disappointment, they find they yet carry the heartache with them: the lashings of punishment strike at their emotions; the nails of hatred pierce their hearts; the thorns of a mocking crown penetrate their thoughts.

Numb from it all, Cleopas and his friend stroll along the way discussing the dreadful events of the past few days and try to make sense of it all.

“Passover will never be the same. No Passover lamb can ever be eaten with the same savor; the herbs will be much more bitter; and the bread, oh, the bread of brokenness.”

A stranger comes from behind to join them and interrupts their conversation. “You seem to be in a deep discussion. What concerns you so?”

They abruptly stop. A look of bewilderment blankets their faces.

“Are you a stranger in Jerusalem? Do you not know the things that happened there these last three days?” asks Cleopas.

“What things? What has happened?”

They recall to the stranger all the anguish: the judgment, the whipping, and the crucifixion of an innocent man named Jesus.

Cleopas says, “We thought He was the glorious Messiah come to rescue Israel.”

The other man says, “Some women from our group of His followers were at His tomb early this morning and rushed to tell us that His body was gone; the tomb was empty! And they also saw angels who told them Jesus is alive! Some of our men ran out to see, and, indeed, Jesus’ body was gone, just as the women said.”

“But we did not see Him,” sighs Cleopas. “We did not believe the report, so we left the city.”

“Do you not understand?” the man asks them. “Are you so slow to believe what the prophets wrote in the Scriptures? Didn’t they predict that the Messiah would have to suffer these things before He entered His time of glory?”

The stranger attempts to rekindle their embered hopes by quoting them the prophets, starting with the book of Genesis and going through the Scriptures, explaining what they meant.

Listening so intently to what the stranger says, the men do not realize they have reached the outskirts of the town. The man acts as if he is going on but they beg him to stay.

“Stay and have supper with us. It’s nearly evening; the day is done.”

Agreeing to go with them, he joins them as they head toward their lodging place. As they sit down at the table for their meal, the man takes the bread, blesses it and breaks it, giving a portion to each one.

Suddenly, the veil of obscurity vanishes from their eyes and they recognize him! It is Jesus Himself! And at that moment, He disappears from their sight.

“It was Jesus! It was Jesus!” they both shout.

So exhilarated, they begin to remind each other of their Emmaus walk, “Didn’t our hearts burn as He talked with us along the way and opened up the Scriptures for us?” Grasping it all, their hearts blaze again with the Emmaus heartburn.

And so it is with us as we travel the road of life and leave behind the pain not only of the past at the foot of the cross but also of the tomb emptied of hopes and dreams, for our hearts cannot stay at the site of death and resurrection. We must take that daily, life-road walk, and, as we do, we find Jesus walking with us in fellowship every step of the way.

As we walk with Him, talk with Him, invite Him to be our guest, and spend time with Him, sharing the Bread of the Word, the true unveiling comes, and, we have a celebration of revelation.

May your heart be set ablaze with His presence, as with the Emmaus heartburn.

Maybe you've read this story before, maybe not. It is a wonderful reminder to be thankful. Enjoy!

Sandra felt as low as the heels on her shoes as she pushed against a November gust and opened 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 her ease.

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 annual holiday visit she coveted, called to say she could not come.

What was worse, 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. “Thanksgiving? Thankful for what?” she wondered aloud. 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?”

“I....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. 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.”

The door’s small bell rang, and the shop 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 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. She thanked the clerk and left.

“Uhh...” stammered Sandra, “that lady just left with, uhh...no flowers!”

“Right. 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 very much like you feel today. 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, I had to spend 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’ve always thanked God for good things in life and never thought to ask Him why those good things happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I always enjoyed the “flowers” of life, but it took “thorns” to show me the beauty of God’s comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we’re afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others.”

Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. “I guess the truth is I don’t want comfort. I’ve lost a baby and I’m angry with God.”

Just then someone else walked in the shop.

“Hey, Phil!” shouted the clerk to the balding, rotund man.

“My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving arrangement...twelve thorny, long-stemmed stems!” laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator.

“Are those for your wife?” asked Sandra incredulously. “Do you mind me asking why she wants something that looks like that?”

“No...I’m glad you asked,” Phil replied. “Four years ago, my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord’s grace and guidance, we slogged through problem after problem. He rescued our marriage. Jenny here told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she learned from “thorny” times and that was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific problem and give thanks to Him for what that problem taught us.”

As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, “I highly recommend the special!”

“I don’t know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life.” Sandra said to the clerk. “It’s all too...fresh.”

“Well, my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God’s providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don’t resent the thorns.”

Tears rolled down Sandra’s cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. “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?” asked Sandra.

“Nothing.” said the clerk. “Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year’s arrangement is always on me.” She smiled and handed a card to Sandra.

“I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you’d like to read it first.”

Sandra took the card and read, “Dear God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for 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. ~George Matheson”

Jenny said, “Happy Thanksgiving, Sandra,” handing her the special. “I look forward to knowing each other better.”

Sandra smiled. She turned, opened the door, and walked toward hope.

Praise Him for the roses; thank Him for the thorns. God bless all of you. Be thankful for all that the Lord does for you.

*the author of this piece is unknown

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