Little thorn

The air was frigid tonight as I walked by moonlight to the chapel to spend an hour with the King of Heaven and Earth. The waning moon shone brightly, lighting my path so well that I easily made my way across the frosty grass. The stars were as clear as crystals in the cold night sky-- they're always clearer when it's colder-- twinkling in their places in the dark canopy far above me. How many times have I come this way? So many memories flooded my senses as I walked along carrying my little thorn to offer to Our Lord.

So many more memories crowded around me when I entered the chapel and saw Him there, in the Blessed Sacrament, in the monstrance. The little thorn pricked at me as I held it more tightly, and I swallowed hard against the narrowing in my throat. Hot tears began to well up in my eyes as I whispered a prayer that they would not fall: and they stopped. I thanked God and offered the thorn to Our Blessed Lord, even as I told Him how small it was compared to even the tiniest from His spiny crown. Even so, this thorn is the one which continues to cost me the most, so I know that it has value in His eyes. Oh dear little thorn, I love you because you remind me that there is joy even in the midst of sorrow. One day, perhaps not too long from now, you will be a beautiful rose. Our Blessed Mother is tending you, dear flower in my heart, and I can almost smell your fragrance already...