Hugging a Cactus

The Navajo Indians thrived in a hot desert climate with piercing sun and little water.  They learned to survive in harsh elements by slicing through the thick walls of Saguaro Cacti and drinking the water and life-giving nutrients stored inside.  The Saguaro are towering cacti that have arms and loom over the desert landscape in southern New Mexico and Arizona. They are picturesque and unique, and they were a treasure to the Navajo.  

I can relate to the Saguaro because loving me is like hugging a cactus.  I’m not proud of that truth, but as an English teacher and a writer, I promise the simile is apt. Finding a way to maneuver around the barbs is not an easy task, but if one does, he or she is met with unwavering loyalty.  Similarly, the inside of that cactus is full of refreshing water, spirit-filling nutrients necessary to navigate this harsh world, so valiant efforts are met with reward.

The reality that I’m  “prickly” never occurred to me until my husband once told me that loving me is really hard, and though the “truth bomb” was totally accurate during the season in which it was spoken, it still stung.  I desperately wanted to be fun-loving, joy filled, and happy, but I wasn’t. I could so relate to Paul’s confession in Romans 7:15, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do” (New International Version).  

My guarded heart had a fortress around it, a thick, protective cactus wall, and I kept people away by piercing barbs.  “Keeping it real” became my spiritual gift. Positivity and optimism annoyed me, and my husband, Micah, is definitely a “cup half full”kind of guy, which consistently caused isolation and strife between us.  

I was lonely and hurting, which made me “prickly” and hard to love, but yet I shoved away people who tried to get through my thick cactus walls.  This self-defeating cycle continued for years, damaging friendships and harming my marriage. Our relationship had been in much worse shape before though; in fact, betrayal from the first years of our union caused me to build my defensive walls in the first place.

Forced to journey alone through some extremely tough times, I became prideful, wore independence like a badge of honor, and boasted about how well I managed on my own.  The reality was that I was parched, dry, and dying from weariness.

Like the Navajo, Micah mastered the secret to navigating the desert season in our marriage—he had to surrender to the barbs, and pierce through that thick wall to get to “the good stuff.”  Such a maneuver is not a pain free process; bandages became a normal accessory. He got tired of the cycle of “hurting people hurt other people,” so with the Lord’s leading he made it his mission to keep loving me well, no matter how many times he was jabbed.  Paul instructs in his letter to the Ephesians 5: 35-26,, “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her…(NIV)”

I would love to say it was relatively painless for him, but the process took years. Random and CONSISTENT acts of love and service finally disintegrated my cactus wall.  It took countless acts of service and thoughtful actions to regain my trust and restore our relationship. Eventually after obvious repentance and counseling for each of us, Micah was able enjoy the sustenance that comes from braving the barbs to penetrate the thick protective layer I’d formed around my soul.  Love eventually broke through because Christ heals and makes all things new.

If your relationship seems hopeless today, please know that LOVE WINS.  If you’re hurting and broken, the Lord, “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” Psalms 147: 3.  We encounter hurting people daily, and they need compassion and tenderness, instead of recoiling and isolation. Always keep trying to love wounded people well. Eventually, the piercing barbs break off as those loving arms continue to wrap around despite the risk of getting jabbed.  That is love. It’s risky and painful, but always worth it. If you really want to change the world, hug a cactus, even when it makes you bleed a little.

As I journey through life, marriage, and parenting, I am becoming softer and less and less “bristley.” Of course some days I fail and fling needles like a porcupine in distress, but radical love transformed my soul.  I so wish others from my past could see the “barbless” me—the one who hugs, who loves freely, who doesn’t cause others to recoil. But, I can’t keep looking in the past; I’m not going in that direction. Now I have to carry the lesson forward and love well, even when it hurts.  I have my band aids ready.