Someone sent this to my wife several years ago. I think it still has a message today, even though it may be the “wrong” time of the year. The original author is unknown.
Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes as she pushed against a November gust and 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 that from her.
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 holiday visit she coveted, called to say that she couldn’t come for the holiday.
Then 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 suffering,” thought Sandra.
“Thanksgiving?” For what? she wondered. For a careless driver whose truck was barely 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?” The shop clerk’s approach startled her.
“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,” she continued, “Are you looking for something that conveys ‘gratitude’ this Thanksgiving?”
“Not exactly!” Sandra blurted out. “In the past five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong.”
Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the clerk said, “I have the perfect arrangement for you.”
Just then, the shop door’s small bell rang, and the 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.
In astonishment, Sandra watched for the customer’s response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no roses! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed.
“Yes, please,” replied Barbara 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. And she left with her order.
“Uh,” stammered Sandra, “that lady just left with, uh…she just left with no flowers!”
“Right,” said the clerk. “I cut off the flowers. That’s the Special. I call it ‘The Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet’.”
“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Sandra. “You can’t tell me someone is willing to pay for that!”
“Barbara came into the store three years ago feeling much like you feel today,” explained the clerk. “She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, and she was facing major surgery.”
“That same year, I had just lost my husband” continued the clerk, “and for the first time in my life, had just spent the holidays alone. I had no children, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow for travel.
“So what did you do?” asked Sandra.
“I learned to be thankful for thorns,” answered the clerk quietly. “I’d always thanked God for the good things in my life, and never questioned the good things that happened to me, but when the bad things hit, did I ever ask questions! It took time for me to learn that the dark times are important. I have 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 drew in a deep 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 into the shop. “Hey, Phil,” called out the clerk to the balding, rotund man.
“My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving Special – 12 thorny, long-stemmed stems!” laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator.
“Those are for your wife!?” Sandra asked incredulously. “Do you mind asking why she wants something that looks like that?”
“Not at all…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,” nodding to the clerk, ” told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her what had learned from ‘thorny’ times, and that was good enough for me. I took home some of these stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific ‘problem’ and give thanks for what that problem had 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, “It’s all still too…fresh.”
“Well,” replied the clerk carefully. “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 Jesus wore so that 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?”
“Nothing. Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year’s arrangement is always on me.” The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. “I’ll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you’d like to read it first.”
It read: “My God, I have never thanked you for my thorns. I’ve 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.”
Praise Him for your roses; thank Him for your thorns