Poem

My King of Thorns

Why did it have to be a crown
Of thorns pressed upon His head?
It should have been a royal one
Made of gold and jewels instead.
It had to be a crown of thorns,
Because in this life that we live
For those who would seek to love,
A thorn is all the world has to give.
– Michael Card

I know that you are hurting me
Because someone else hurt you;
I feel like they pierced you with thorns
And the thorns went through you
And they stick out the other side,
Pricking all who would try to get close to you.

And I see my King crowned with thorns;
The hurtful words passed around the world
Go into Him and do not come out again,
Melted away in His love and pain.

I can’t let myself hear your barrage of criticism
Or I’ll start to believe I’m ugly and stupid and worthless.
I feel like you are giving me a hedge of thorns
And hidden in its center is the one true word
That I should hear and change, the real reason you resent me,
But it hurts too much to dig through thorns with bare hands
And find it.

“That is not your job,” says my King. “It is her job to tell you.”
So I grab His hand and walk towards you and ask you,
“Have I sinned against you? Are you angry at me about something I can apologize for? And if not, please stop treating me like you hate me.”
We pull some thorns up. I think they’ll grow back.
But maybe we got some by the roots. Love believes all things.

I can’t move tonight
I’m lying here paralyzed, surrounded by walls of bristling thorns.
And my King reaches into the thorns and pushes them away
So I can walk through.
And I know for certain that I am beautiful, precious, and forgiven,
Or He would not have such bleeding hands for me.
And for you.
For you.
You.

How beautiful you are, my Thorn-King! How I love you!
We shall walk together in a smooth and flowering world
When you have taught us the bloody price of love.