(Someone just sent this to me, and it was too beautiful not to share.)
The face is the mirror of the mind,
And eyes without speaking
Confess the secrets of the heart...
These words are ancient jewels mined from the quarry of life. Read them only if you dare treasure them. For it would be better to never know than to know and not obey. The hand that writes them now is old, wrinkled from the sun and labor. But the hand that guides them is wise – wise from years, wise from failures, wise from heartache.
I travel from city to city. I buy jewels from the diggers in one land and sell them to the buyers in another. I have weathered nights in stormy waters. I have walked days through desert heat. My hands have held the finest rubies and stroked the deepest furs. But I would trade it all for the one jewel I never knew.
It was not for lack of opportunity that I never held it. It was for lack of wisdom. The jewel was in my hand, but I exchanged it for an imitation.
I have never known true love.
I have known embraces. I have seen beauty. But I have never known love. If only I’d learned to recognize love as I learned to recognize stones.
My father taught me about stones. He was a jewel cutter. He would seat me at a table before a dozen emeralds.
“One is true,” he would tell me. ” The others are false. Find the true jewel.”
I would ponder – studying each one after the other. Finally I would choose. I was always wrong.
“The secret,” he would say, “is not the surface of the stone. A true jewel has a glow. Deep within the gem there is a flame. The surface can always be polished to shine, but with time the sparkle fades. However, the stone that shines from within will never fade.”
With years, my eyes learned to spot true stones. I am never fooled. I have learned to see the light within.
If only I’d learned the same thing about love.
But I’ve spent my life in places I shouldn’t have been looking only for someone with beautiful hair, a dazzling smile, and fancy clothes. I’ve searched for a woman with outer beauty but no true value. And now I’m left with emptiness.
Once I almost found her. Many years ago in Madrid I met the daughter of a farmer. Her ways were simple. Her love was pure. Her eyes were honest. But her looks were plain. She would have loved me. She would have held me through every season. Within her was a glow of devotion the likes of which I’d never seen since.
But I continued looking for someone whose beauty would outshine the rest.
How many times since I have longed for that farm girl’s kind heart? If only I’d known that true beauty is found inside, not outside. If only I’d known, how many tears would I have saved?
True love glows from within and grows stronger with the passage of time.
Heed my caution. Look for the purest gem. Look deep within the heart to find the greatest beauty of all. And when you find the gem, hold on to her and never let her go.
For in her you have been granted a treasure worth far more than riches.
Seek beauty and miss love.
But seek love and find both.
- Max Lucado
eucatastrophe-a seeming disaster with a joyous end.
"The consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy ending: or more correctly of the good catastrophe, the sudden joyous "turn" (for there is no true end to any fairy-tale): this joy, which is one of the things which fairy-stories can produce supremely well, is not essentially "escapist," nor "fugitive." In its fairy-tale - or otherworld - setting, it is a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief."
