Life really isn’t always a bed of roses.
When I was in middle school, my family was falling apart, so I went to live with my aunt for almost a year. I remember her telling me not to run through her rose garden.
I didn’t listen, of course, and took a running start with my arms stretched out wide only to be shocked with searing pain. Thorns! Big, mean, vicious thorns ripped my flesh and opened up a flood of tears. I looked at my source of pain and wondered if I should call it a bush of thorns or a bush of flowers. It could go either way.
You know, I can look back on my life in pretty much the same way. Would I see the hurt or would I see the beauty? I guess you could say I’ve been making that choice every day since my encounter with the rose garden.
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