I don't know how many equestrians are reading, but let me say right at the outset, I am not one. One of the last times I was on a horse (I was 14), she decided to 'round up' a loose pig. She took off after it, and was not interested in doing what I wanted to do. I hung on for dear life, but did not know the rules of riding when amid such a gallop.

We were heading to a corner of the property at a high rate of speed. A heavily wooded corner. A heavily wooded corner with locust trees... you know, the ones with enormous thorns? My horse forgot to measure how tall "we" were. She was only thinking about herself. She easily passed under the biggest one on the property. I did not.

Instead of leaning forward and getting low by her neck, I laid back. I was violently removed from my saddle. My landing was anything but graceful. The first thing to hit the ground was my left hand. At that speed, my wrist took the brunt of the punishment.

When I came to, I was covered in dirty sweat. I looked at my aching left arm, only to see that everything was normal... except that my hand was at a right angle to my arm... bent in a way it shouldn't. My friend came to my rescue. He tried to walk me back to the barn. I passed out twice on the way.

Ultimately, I got a cast, and quite a story. I never forgot locust trees. I even went to school and studied them.

Several years ago, I was at my brother's camp, during a time the Lord directed me to fast, and seek His face. While there, I was hiking in the woods... a different woods. Yet, I came upon a locust tree. It had even lower branches than the last one I'd met. I paused, looked at that tree, and remembered the pain of my previous encounter.

I fashioned a crown of thorns as I reflected on my Savior's pain. My broken body paled in comparison to His. Why did He give so much for me? I did not deserve what He gave. Neither did my son.

Yet my son learned to give in a way I haven't. I have an old picture of him, riding a pony attached to a bar, inside a corral... safe, nowhere near harms way. He was having a great time. Yet, safety would not be his choice.

Not long after that, he learned what a crown of thorns was, and what it represented. Not long after that, he met the wearer of those thorns. Not long after that, he knelt before the bearer of his sin and pain, and beheld Him for the first time, face to face.

We all have stories. We all have scars. I want to see His.

dad