The Garnet

On a cold, winter day, I was born, A new creation in a troubled world. My birthstone, the garnet, the color of blood worn on my finger. I saw no light in the dark red stone. I wondered, why not an emerald, a diamond or ruby? The garnet, like blood on snow, is the color of suffering, a keepsake of despair. On a candle lit, summer night, I was born again, a new creation in Him. My birthstone, still the garnet, surprised me with its beauty as the blood of Jesus washed me clean. A light shined in the dark, red stone, more beautiful than an emerald, diamond or ruby. The garnet shined like a precious jewel in the greenest grass, the color of the blood He shed for me, a keepsake of love and grace. Though each January I grow older, in the garnet, I see beauty where before I saw none. The smooth surface reflects the promise of eternity, in the presence of my Savior. And I am reminded of my eternal life. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Eighth place in Flowers or Stones conteste