Showing posts with label regret. Show all posts
Showing posts with label regret. Show all posts

Monday, June 11

Leaning Against a Thorn




Thorns of trials.
Thorns of affliction.
Thorns of adversity.
Thorns of all kinds.

Thorns pricking. Briers sticking. Thistles piercing.

Pricking thorns of...

* abuse
* divorce
* addiction
* a lost job
* failing health
* loss of a home
* financial disaster
* a friend’s betrayal
* a teen making bad choices

The enemy stands ready to prick us at any time with adverse circumstances.

However, sometimes we find ourselves being pricked with the barbs of consequences when we lean into an avoidable situation, something God’s Word clearly states that we are to shun.

If we lean into wrong desires, our hearts will be pricked with the thorns of heartache and sorrow.

If we lean into improper thoughts, our hearts will be pricked with the thorns of guilt and remorse.

If we lean into fleshly lusts, our hearts will be pricked with the thorns of shame and regret.

Sometimes, God will remove the thorns; however, on occasion, He will leave them for our good, as when He left Paul’s thorn to prick him when he leaned into pride.

I wonder if we ever thank the Lord for the thorns? What? Thank Him for a trial, a heartache? All things work together for good, remember? So says Romans 8:28.

The next time a thorny ordeal is pricking you, remember the words of this prayer by George Matheson, a blind Scottish theologian and preacher in the late 1800s...

My, God, I have never thanked Thee for my thorn. I have thanked Thee a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorn...Teach me the glory of my cross; teach me the value of my thorn. Show me that I have climbed to Thee by the path of pain. Show me that my tears have made my rainbow.

He thanked God for his blindness. Is that something we would do?

What did David say? “I will praise the Lord no matter what happens. I will constantly speak of His glories and grace.” (Ps. 34:1 TLB)

What about Habakkuk’s attitude? The prophet asserted his faith in God and promised to praise Him, even if all else failed, “Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vine; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the LORD! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation.” (Hab. 3:17-18 NLT)

Being thankful is easy when everything is hunky-dunky, but the praise that emanates from a pain-ravaged heart, pressed by a thorn, is the sweet-smelling sacrifice of holy incense that rises to the throne room and lingers at the Father’s feet.

But what of those times when our hearts are pricked with grief?

Once I heard a song of sweetness
As it cleft the morning air,
Sounding in its blest completeness,
Like a tender, pleading prayer;
And I sought to find the singer,
Whence the wondrous song was borne,
And I found a bird, sore wounded,
Pinioned by a cruel thorn.

I have seen a soul in darkness,
While its wings with pain were furled,
Giving hope and cheer and gladness
That should bless a weeping world;
And I knew that life of sweetness,
Was of pain and sorrow borne,
And a stricken soul was singing,
With its heart against a thorn.

We are told of One who loved us,
Of a Savior crucified,
We are told of nails that pinioned,
And a spear that pierced His side;
We are told of cruel scourging,
Of a Savior bearing scorn,
And He died for our salvation,
With His brow against a thorn.

We “are not above the Master.”
Will we breathe a sweet refrain?
And His grace will be sufficient,
When our heart is pierced of pain.
Will we live to bless His loved ones,
Tho’ our life be bruised and torn,
Like the bird that sang so sweetly,
With its heart against a thorn?

~ Author unknown

Do you sing and thank the Lord when a thorn pierces your heart with pain?


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Wednesday, April 4

The Hammer That Dripped Blood


Standing over the blistering heat of the fire, as sweat trails down his dirty face, the smith fans the blazing flames with his bellows. As he finishes the hammer he is working on, he gives it a thorough check, making sure it will meet the critical eye of the centurion. As a smith for the Roman army, all his work goes into the hands of the soldiers.

After the centurion picks up the ready tools from the smith and approves them, he sets out to deliver them to his soldiers. On his way, he gives the hammer to one of the best soldiers under his command. The soldier’s use of the hammer this day? Crucifixion duty.

The soldier has endured the burden of this duty before. He hates this gruesome task.

Under the strain of this assignment, he ambles his way to skull hill, better known as Golgotha, where he joins the centurion and the other three soldiers already there. Standing there chatting with them, he hears that three prisoners are coming to be crucified. One of the prisoners is his charge.

He waits.

Standing there, he realizes that what he is about to do is the antithesis of the weather: it is one of those breathtaking, spring days that warms and rejuvenates the soul. Rivulets of white stream across the azure sky. A gentle breeze distills the fragrance of the flowering blossoms into the air.

Yet, impending gloom hangs in the air.

A large, jeering crowd, intermingled with a great many mourners, moves toward the hill on the Via Dolorosa. Three men bent under the weight of their own crossbeam trudge their way up the hill. A short distance behind them is another man, whipped beyond recognition, stumbling with agonized effort every step of the way. So disfigured and injured that another man carries his crossbeam for him.

This bloodied mess of a man now stands before the soldier. He wonders: Who is this man? What could he possibly have done to deserve this horrible beating? Surely, he wasn’t a soldier for he wears no hobnailed boots; he’s merely an ordinary sandaled man.

Sweat beads up on the soldier’s forehead. His heart races. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

The other soldiers, now finished crucifying their two prisoners, help tie the soldier’s prisoner to the crossbeam while the soldier readies his nail-spikes and his hammer. He bends down, steadies the nail in one hand and draws back his hammer in the other hand.

But before he can bring it down on the nail, he glances over at the prisoner. Peering at him, through the streaks of blood covering his face from the thorny crown twisted onto his head, are eyes of piercing kindness he has never seen before.

The centurion yells the soldier’s name, startling him. “Get on with it!”

The soldier turns his head away to focus on the nail. He forces himself to do the job he was ordered to do. His stomach churns and he feels like retching.

Completing the nailing of this man to the crossbeam, he looks down to see that he is splattered with blood and his hammer drips with the red life of the man.

The other soldiers fasten the man to the upright beam and the crucifixion is finished. The soldier looks up as he hears the man say, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.”

The soldier realizes now who this man is. Jesus. This is Jesus, the one everyone is talking about. Forgive? How can He forgive me for this horrid act?

He spins around as he hears the religious teachers and priests mocking this man on the cross. “He saved others, but he can’t even save himself! The King of Israel, is he? If he comes down from the cross right now, we will believe him! Let God rescue him now if he wants him, if he is the Son of God.”

One of the other criminals hanging next to this man Jesus says, “If You are the Christ, then save Yourself and us.”

But the other criminal rebukes him, “Don’t you even fear God as you’re dying? We surely deserve to die for what we’ve done, but this man? He hasn’t done anything wrong.” Turning to Jesus, he says, “Remember me when you enter your Kingdom.”

“Today, you will be with Me in Paradise.” Bowing His head, Jesus says, “It is finished! Father, I commit My Spirit to You.” And He breathes out His last breath.

“Surely, this was a righteous man,” says the centurion, shaking his head, and then solemnly orders the soldier to stand guard.

Stand guard? I just want to get out of here. What have I done?
So distraught that he cannot bear to look up at the naked body of this man on the cross, he lowers his eyes to the ground. He notices the bloody hammer still in his hand. He throws it down and backs away in horror.

Shame overwhelms him. He falls to his knees in regret.

Another soldier picks up the hammer and tries to give it to him. “Here’s your hammer” is met only with silence and a stare. He won’t touch it.

The next morning, the centurion finds the soldier dead.

~The hammer that dripped blood? Had my name engraved on it.

“Living, He loved me; dying, He saved me;
Buried, He carried my sins far away;
Rising, He justified freely forever;
One day He’s coming – O glorious day!”


~Thank You, Lord, for without Your suffering and death on the cross, I would have no resurrection joy!

~~In my joy, I agonized over this post. I know you understand why.



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