Beech Tree News Network

Last Wednesday, when it was actually warm enough to be outside, my granddaughter, Sabria, and I went on an adventure—that’s what she calls our walks out on the farm.  Before we set out, we each chose a walking stick from the collection of limbs at the end of the wood pile.  They were to be used to fight off any “wild animals” we might encounter.
    We walked down behind Garey’s shop building, through the gap and over the hill then made our way toward the bottoms.  The terrain is grassy for the most part, but on that particular Wednesday, Sabria decided we should make a right turn up the hill to where the big hickory nut tree stood then explore the woods before returning home. 
    She always wants to lead, so I let her.  At the beginning of the journey, she designated herself Pink Princess and me as the King.  We often take on these same roles while having other adventures. Someday, she will realize a king has more authority than a princess, and my power will be usurped, I will be stripped of my title, and Sabria will wear the mantle; but as of last Wednesday, I was still king.
    There are no goats or cows on that side of the farm, so the underbrush in the woods is peppered with green briars.  After a few minutes of leading us through the woods, Sabria found herself snagged.  I freed her sweatpants, and we walked a few minutes more before she was snagged again.
    “Why are they so sticky?” she asked.
    “They have thorns,” I answered, “See?”  I held one up for her to see the sharp barb. 
    “Let me show you how to walk through thorns,” I said.  I took my walking stick and raked the briar away from the path then walked through.  She tried the technique with her stick.  Pleased with the outcome, she struck out in the lead once again, raking back briars as she moved forward. 
    When we came out of the woods, we were on top of the hill behind our house.  The area was overrun with all sorts of stobs and thorny things, but it was a small patch of such things, so I carried Sabria through to the other side.  On the other side was a patch of grass with a smattering of green briars.  “You can walk through this,” I told her, “but you’ll have to use your stick on the briars.”
    “Why can’t you carry me?” she asked
    “Because you can walk,” I said, “You need to do what you can for yourself.”
    Sabria took her stick and moved ahead, raking briars to the side as she walked, until an errant one got past her stick, snagged her pant leg and cut into her leg.  She let out a holler.  “Gee, let’s go back!” she cried.
    “Baby, what’s behind us is a lot worse than what’s in front of us,” I said.  “We’ve got to keep going, we’re almost to that little clearing, and right past that clearing is the road home.”
    “Why are there thorns, Gee?” she asked.
    At this point, I realize I could have introduced the Biblical story of Adam and Eve, and how because of their sin, God cursed the ground and caused it to bear thorns, but I didn’t.  I didn’t because I grew up surrounded by people who blamed everybody else for everything that happened in their lives.  For much of my life, I followed suit.  It took me a long time to break the pattern and to realize that there are times when my choices make my thorns, times when other people’s choices make my thorns, and still other times when there are just thorns.  Thorns are thorns, and the only way through it is just do it.
    “I don’t like thorns,” Sabria said, tears welling up in her eyes. 
    “Nobody likes them,” I said, “But we can’t just stand here crying about it or we’ll never make it home.”
    Have you ever heard the song, “I Saw God Today,” by George Strait?  I had an “I Saw God Today” moment in the middle of those thorns, and I really felt bad for Him—God, not George Strait.  I felt bad for Him because of all the “thorns” speeches He has given me when I didn’t pay attention; for all the times He said, “There’s a clearing just over there,” and I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to acknowledge it; for all the times He carried me through the rough patches and I complained because He didn’t carry me the entire way; and for all the times He put me back on the road toward home, and I never stopped to thank Him.
    “Good Lord!” I said out loud, “I’m a four-year-old.”
    “You’re not four,” Sabria said, “I’m four and I’m the Pink Princess.  You’re the king.”
    “You’re right,” I said, “I’m the King, and we need to get back to the castle before dark.  I see the road home right through those trees.  Come on, we can make it.”