The world is not respectable; it is mortal, tormented, confused, deluded forever; but it is shot through with beauty, with love, with glints of courage and laughter; and in these, the spirit blooms timidly, and struggles to the light amid the thorns.
Our hilltop farm is named BriarCroft for good reason — our unintentional crop that flourishes each year is thorny. We battle them with brush hogs, mowers and loppers, even burning them to the roots when necessary. Yet the vines win this battle when we divert our attention elsewhere, even for just a few weeks.
Good thing there is light and love that glints through the thorns to encourage us when we are torn and hurting. There will be a time when the power of the spirit will overwhelm and overcome the plethora of thorns. There will come a day when the vines will yield fruit to feed us rather than wounds to bleed us.