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Thorns. Like pointed arrows. We touch. We hurt. We bleed.
Flaming arrows of the evil one. They hit their mark. We hurt. We bleed.
Thorns in the flesh. Sent to torment. Allowed for a reason.
Paul's thorn kept him from becoming conceited. What would I become without the thorns?
What will I become with them?
Three times and more, I ask for the taking away.
"My grace is sufficient for you," He says.
Is it really? The words flow off my lips.
"His grace is sufficient for me."
But is it? Really?
It is, because He says it is.
The better question is, "Do I really believe it is?"
When it hurts. When I bleed. When it hits the mark.
Is grace enough for me?
Grace. Unmerited favor from God.
Good in the middle of bad. Light in the midst of dark.
Like those days when it rains but the sun is still shining.
Grace is the rose that grows from the thorn bush.
image from: haendi.files.wordpress.com
Three times He asked for the thorncup to be taken from Him.
image from: http://www.awordforyou.org/
Sufficient for Him.
Sufficient for me.