Who would choose to fall into a thorny rose bush where the sharp edges rip your flesh and leave opens wounds? Wounds that become infected and take years to heal but leaves scars to remind you of the tremendous pain that your unexpected fall left behind. After the wounds heal, you look back and think it wasn't so bad. The roses' fragrance was sweet and you had a good laugh because of your clumsiness. The pain and embarrassment disappears and you begin to think you can take that path again and do things differently, watch your steps and pay more attention. The alternative would be to live your life cautiously, without adventure. You take the alternative and never venture down that same road to avoid the thorny rose bush until you realize that there are dangers every way you turn. So you stay inside where it's safe. Nevertheless, your scars remain and the memories never cease. You remember when you loved roses but now they represent pain.
I remember when I loved roses. I remember when I thought love was possible. I was 16. I believed the lord made my future husband with me in mind. He created a man for me that was strong but understood that love and vulnerability are not signs of weakness. A good provider that understood my desire to feel secure and wanted. An intelligent man that could stimulate me mind, body and soul. A funny man that enjoyed life and understood what it takes to keep a family together. A man like my father who never raised his voice but commanded respect by his actions. That belief is no more.
I'm writing this blog as therapy for myself to try to get back to the place where I can recognize and accept love.
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