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
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