The Shooters on Our Street

“Mike?  This is Shannon.  Your boys did come down like you said, but I wanted to let you know that they did not apologize.  They told me that they didn't shoot at Cade with their air soft guns!”  I hoped my indignation translated through the phone. 
 
My neighbor calmly replied that his boys had plead their innocence of said crime to him as well… and he believed them.
 
What?!  My precious five-year-old had been subjected to the line of fire without eye protection, and this man was defending the shooters?!
 
I hung up, called my sweet babies to my side, and barked out new marching orders with resolution.  “Boys, from now on, when the Garvers have their air soft guns, you get away!  Those boys cannot be trusted!  I mean, Cade, they shot at you, right?!?”
 
Cade did not assume my incensed stance, as I expected.  In stead, he shifted from side to side, sucked on his fingers, and mumbled, “Uhhh… Well…”
 
“Cade! They did shoot at you, didn’t they?  That’s what you told me…”  Maybe I was wrong about who could and could not be trusted.  As the guilt on Cade’s face grew, so did my horror.  I had been the one doing the target practice!
 
Ten minutes later, as my tearful little fabricator and I approached our neighbor’s doorstep, my indignation was swapped for mortification.  Where before I was pointing and squawking, I now wanted to slink and grovel.  Boy, had my posture changed!    
 
Paul said that a thorn in the flesh was given him to keep him from being conceited (2 Cor. 12:7).  I think God allows me to brush against thorns of all sizes to pop my ever-inflating conceit, and reduce me to meekness.  The little thorns (like the shooting situation) prickle, and the big ones dig in and fester.  But every thorn helps collapse my smugness and reposition me to my knees. 
 
I have to agree with Paul.  Thorns are good.