The thorn

Here is a beautiful poem for those times in our lives when the fragility of our bodies, the short measure of our years, and the mystery of suffering brings us to our knees. Whatever your thorn may be, may it indeed grant you a glimpse of His face.

I stood a mendicant of God before His royal throne
And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, "But Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me."
He said, "My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee."
I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face. 

-- Martha Snell Nicholson