The Diamond

Deborah Lewis

Sterile, bright, uncomfortable, and formal. The atmosphere could not be further than what was not so long ago the norm. The diamond waits on a metal plate. A pair of tweezers fetches the gem stone for a closer examination. The jeweler, hunched over and donning the magnifying glasses, painstakingly appraises the diamond from every angle. Each facet is already perfect in his mind. The cut, color, clarity. A delighted grin graces His face. This one is exquisite and will be set.

Deep in the earth, the lump of coal was subjected to harsh, brutal treatment. Pressure, heat. Cycles of savagery and reprieve. Buried, dark, hidden. Days, months, years turned to decades, turned to centuries and beyond. Timeless and settled, the lump unknowingly was undergoing transformation.

Accustomed to the solitude, the intruder that invaded the soil was at first considered obnoxious and fleeting, but the impact of the miner caught the diamond way off guard. Just the introduction of sunlight proved alien and excruciating. The pressure and heat was comfortable compared to this torture.

And then there was travel, cleansing, and cutting. The cutting was deplorable, truly. All orchestrated as the precursor to the introduction of the jeweler.

The approval of the jeweler charts a new course. The captured “coal” will be displayed on gold. Married even. And the ring will adorn a hand. A new warmth will forge new connections. A symbol of a promise. The useless lump that endured seemingly endless testing, unnoticed, will forever be seen and admired by all.

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Published by Deborah Lewis

Don't ever give in. Don't ever quit. Don't ever surrender. What gives me the right to say that? Mountains of impossibility that I have walked through: 6 1/2 years of infertility, an adoption that did not go through, two seasons of helping raise other people's children, a miscarriage, paid back every cent of 85K of debt, crisis pregnancy, raising a special needs daughter, the death of that daughter, divorce etc... With every challenge came real wounds, but something else in juxtaposition to the scars: wisdom, and treasure. Real riches found on very broken paths. Some of my closest friends have caught my tears big, wet, snotting up, warm tears, but they have also "seen" the gifts acquired along the way. They have experienced hope in hopeless situations. They have gleaned tenacity in unbearable circumstance. And to be VERY CLEAR this is not because I am strong, very much the opposite. I KNOW how weak I am. Don't give up. Don't give in. Don't surrender. "For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on You." 2Chron 20:12. My mom would say, "Shoulders back, chest out!" I would add to that, fix your eyes on the only One who declares, "You are more that a conqueror!"

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