A pile of fuel lays on the ground. We take notice of one of the pieces. Coarse and dark, it has no form, no hope of being shaped. Existing, with no hint of its imminent demise. Ready to walk into the furnace, but quickly picked out. Picked out by a loving hand, so gentle and caring. Nothing but love to share. This hand, gentle yet strong, forms the black mass into a gem. No matter how dimly it glistens, no matter how uncut, still a gem. It’s hopes of being picked out realized when all was put on the line in exchange. This now gem no better, only more treasured. With every cut and every polish, it glows more brilliantly. Shown the way to everlasting existence, this gem cannot burn in the fire, for it has accepted the form it was given. Everlasting, un-breaking, waiting for the day to shine as a star, to give hope to those still combustible. Remembering it would be no gem had it not been saved. To return to the earth as ashes, not the steadfast, uncompromising strength it has attained. Tempted to jump from the sky to join the others, it knows better, for it is plain to see with nearby lights shining bright. The only way to be a gem was to not try to be a gem at all. It was to allow the gentle, caring hand to form it. Only then can it see what lies ahead. Everlasting brilliance guaranteed by this master craftsman. The most precise cut by this master artist, who aims only to make all dark lifeless forms into His glorious creations. No matter how small, not matter how large, still a gem. No matter how new, no matter how old, still a gem. No matter how opaque, still a gem. Still worthy of being worn, still hoping to be chosen, despite how small it is. Polished now or polished later, the end result is all the same. Is this gem not a gem? Did it not give up all it knew before to be a gem, as did the others; surely this rock can sparkle. If not but with the help and love of those who helped choose this stone. This gem is worthy of existence in someone’s heart, for it is coal no more.
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