Thorns & Roses

It started with a thorn.

I was out in the yard, working, lost in the rhythm of getting things done, when I reached a little too close to the rose bush. A sharp sting shot through my hand as one of its thorns dug in deep. Instinctively, I yanked my hand back and muttered under my breath, Stupid thorn bush.

And that’s when it hit me.

It wasn’t a thorn bush. It was a rose bush. It just wasn’t blooming.

That thought sat with me for a moment. How quick I was to define it by what was hurting me instead of what it was created to be. In its current state - overgrown, wild, unkempt - it wasn’t showing its true beauty. And because it wasn’t producing roses, the only thing that stood out were the thorns.

It made me wonder - how often does that happen with us?

I can’t tell you how many times in my life I’ve been the thorn bush. Sharp. Harsh. Difficult to be around. There have been seasons where, instead of reflecting Jesus, all I did was push people away. Instead of showing His beauty, I was defined by what hurt.

And the hard truth? I knew it.

I wasn’t oblivious to the way I treated people. Especially the ones I loved. I had a short fuse. I was quick to anger. I was abrasive in ways that left wounds, not healing. I was a thorn bush. And I didn’t care.

But thorns don’t just grow overnight.

A rose bush doesn’t suddenly decide to stop producing roses. It happens over time. A lack of care. A lack of pruning. A lack of tending to what actually matters.

And isn’t that the same with us?

When we stop letting Jesus be the center of our lives, when we ignore the hard work of letting Him transform us, what’s left? The sharp edges. The self-centeredness. The things that push people away instead of drawing them in.

That was me for a long time.

I think one of the biggest pruning seasons in my life happened when I got married to my wife, Jessica. I had been married before. I thought I knew what I needed to know, how to navigate a relationship, how to be a husband. But I was blind to the baggage I was carrying.

I had habits, mindsets, and defenses built from my past that I dragged into this new marriage. And before I realized it, I was hurting my wife.

My thorns - things I thought I had under control - were cutting into her.

It wasn’t an overnight realization. It wasn’t immediate conviction. I fought it. I dug in my heels because I didn’t want to admit I was the problem. I was really good at pointing fingers, at playing the blame game, at shifting responsibility anywhere but where it belonged - on me.

But when you refuse to acknowledge the need for pruning, the damage keeps spreading.

And eventually, I reached a breaking point.

I was confronted - both by external circumstances and by God Himself - and forced to face the truth. I had to change. Something had to change. Because if I kept going the way I was, if I kept letting my thorns define me, I was going to do permanent damage to my marriage.

So, I had a choice.

I could keep pretending I was fine, that I didn’t need to deal with the overgrowth in my life. Or I could let God start cutting away what didn’t belong.

Pruning is painful. Really painful.

Because it’s not just about cutting away bad things. Sometimes, it’s cutting away comfortable things. It’s cutting away mindsets that feel like second nature. It’s cutting away pride and learning how to apologize - not just for the sake of peace, but because it’s right.

One of the hardest moments for me was asking for forgiveness when I didn’t have a choice. When circumstances forced me to be honest about my failure. When I had to look my wife in the eye and own my mistakes.

It’s humbling. It’s raw. It’s necessary.

But pruning isn’t about punishment - it’s about growth.

Slowly, as I allowed God to strip away my self-righteousness, my pride, and my quick temper, something started to shift. I started guarding my heart and my actions. I started being more intentional about the way I loved my wife.

And over time, something changed.

The thorn bush started blooming again.

I wasn’t just defined by what hurt anymore. There was beauty growing where there had only been sharp edges. And my wife? She saw the difference. Because when real transformation happens, it doesn’t just change you - it changes the people around you.

I don’t know what your thorn bush looks like. Maybe it’s bitterness. Maybe it’s anger. Maybe it’s apathy - because let’s be honest, that one creeps in so quietly, we don’t even realize it’s there until it’s all we know.

But here’s the truth: Jesus isn’t content to leave you that way.

A rose bush is still a rose bush - even when it’s not blooming. But without pruning, without care, without intentional growth, all you’re left with are the thorns.

So, what are you letting grow?

Because if you’re not intentional, the things that shouldn’t be there will take over.

Jesus said it like this:

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” (John 15:1-2)

Pruning isn’t punishment. It’s preparation.

God isn’t trying to break you just for the sake of it. He’s trying to make you whole. He’s trying to grow something in you that reflects Him - His grace, His kindness, His patience.

The question is - will you let Him?

Or will you keep resisting?

That rose bush in my yard? It still needs work. It’s overgrown, tangled, and wild. It hasn’t bloomed in a long time. But with pruning and care, I know it will.

And you?

You were never meant to be just a thorn bush.

You were created to reflect Christ. To bear His fruit - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.

And the only way that happens? Let the Gardener do His work.

The roses will bloom again.

They always do.