Love Prickles (A New Testament parable about love)

                                                       "True love hurts sometimes."

                         

   Love prickles, that is what she called them. The shock never grew less, no matter how much she loved or how much she aged. It was her constant companion. Though they hurt like the searing burn of a branding iron, they were no longer unfamiliar. 

   Milly was old, 80 at least- she had lost count of the years and she had been through a lot. If you would have asked others, they would have told you they were shocked at her stamina, shocked that she still chose love despite it's prickles. They were confused that she still did it- if they were her, they were certain they would have given up loving long ago, but not Milly. She had been born with the love prickles, but she had decided a long time ago that life without love was no life at all- therefore, the prickles were worth it to her. 

   She could instantly be recognized in a crowd because, except for her face, she kept herself fully covered. Long sleeves, pants, little white gloves and a sun hat were her constant companions. She never had figured out why the prickles never scarred or burned her face, but she took it as a great comfort. The rest of herself she covered in order not to scare others away. She was the only one who knew the hideously repulsive quality of the scars. They left grotesque patterns on her skin that left her with a reptile- like quality. All except for her face. 

   Some told her that true love hurt sometimes, but for Milly, there was no sometimes; love always hurt. But, the joy it brought to her heart made her press on until the searing burn would fade and all she was left with was sweet memories. 

   She remembered the first time she felt the burn. She must have been about three or four. It was a warm summer evening as she watched her mother dish up her favorite ice cream and hand out heaping bowls to her and her siblings. Delight was written all over her face, and she squealed in anticipation. She knew her mother had made this kind especially for her. It made her feel warm inside. Receiving her bowl, she set it down on the table and ran to whisper her thanks in her mothers ear and plant a kiss on her cheek. As she did so, the warm feeling in her heart grew to an intense level until it left a small scar right over her heart as the prickling burning pain seared her skin. She let out a little shriek of pain and bewilderment, pulling away from her mother and looking very confused and hurt indeed. In her little heart, she could not understand why the wonderful feeling had been followed by such pain. 

   As she walked away with her ice cream and coddled her wound, she heard a voice behind her. Turning, she saw a a sweet old man with a little jar of something that glowed with a comforting light. "I have something for you, Millie dear" he said kindly.

 "Who are you?" she asked in bewilderment.

 "Oh," said the man, "my name isn't important...you can just call me Sal. And I want you to know that I am very proud of you. Here, this should help with the sting." He beckoned her over and smoothed the glowing cream over her heart.

  Her skin cooled and she thanked him gratefully. "Sal," she asked quietly, "why does it prickle so, to love?"

"I'm not sure Milly, why you can feel the prickle...it only comes to a few in this life, to the brave and the kindhearted. It helps them understand that love cost something. But no matter how much it hurts, don't you ever give it up. The peace will always fill your heart, and remember- no matter how much it stings, I'll always be here afterwards." Her eyes were sad, but she looked up at him and promised to try her best.

   That had only been the beginning. She remembered the year she was twelve. The scars were already beginning to cover her and she had determined in her heart that the prickle wasn't worth it. Even though Sal was always there with his ointment, the sting was hot and searing- taking her breath away every time. So, she determined that at least for one year, she wouldn't love at all...then perhaps her wounds would have time to heal.

   The first time she said no to love, it had been to her little brother Bobby. He came up to her with his little chubby cheeks and asked if she could please read him their story. She didn't even look at him, and with all the coldness she could muster, she said, "No Bobby, I don't like stories anymore, don't ask me again." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, closing the door behind her so she wouldn't have to see the tears rolling down his little cheeks. She felt and overwhelming sense of icy cold running straight from her heart and pulsing through her skin, cooling every scar. It felt nice at first, but the more she opted for coldness over the searing hot, the heavier her heart became, and the less joy she found in her life, until she was so cold that she couldn't feel a thing.

   Sal came then, when she was alone, and asked her why. She didn't have any good answers except that she was tired of the pain and the ugly scars. He sat down beside her and drew out a painting he had drawn of Bobby's little face, eyes filled with tears. Another came out of her sitting lonely and sad, under her tree, all alone. She saw the hurt look in her Father's eyes and the hollow look in her own. It was then that she remembered her first words to Sal all those years ago, "A life without love is no life at all." Well, she had discovered it was worse than that- a life without love was still a life, but it was awful, empty, and cold. Looking at Sal, she quietly determined that if he was always going to be there, maybe she could do this. After all, she had missed him. Lovelessness was too painful, even more painful than the love prickles... With her decision made, the familiar feeling of peace filled her heart again, and she could feel it getting warmer. The cold melted away, and she felt hopeful again.