I stopped before I reached the house to look towards the woods where the body laid with paramedics leaning over him, forcing breath into his lungs. I couldn't venture into the woods, my mind and heart set on his youngest sister waiting inside, my heart breaking into thousands of pieces.
But as I looked, my eyes beheld my husband gently scoop his mother into his arms like a fragile child to carry her through the waist high thorny shrubs to reach her grandchild laying there and her daughter standing, waiting, praying.
I am thankful I stopped for that brief moment. For in so doing, I bore witness to a moment of beauty in the ugliest of times. A son, tenderly bearing the pain of the thorns in his own exposed flesh, so she didn't have to. I saw a glimpse of the tenderness of The Lord, a glimpse of Jesus himself bearing the pain of the thorns upon his brow, so I didn't have to.
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