Amethyst.

Yuck.

At least that’s what I used to think. After all, in my “era,” purple was associated with Donny Osmond’s socks. I declared the color weak during a time when I wanted to show nothing but strength. It wasn’t until several years later that I discovered purple is the color of royalty, which made it at least tolerable. But I still wasn’t interested in wearing it or having it be any part of me.

Nine years ago, that decision changed dramatically. The Man in my house watches a lot of history/documentary-type television. And while I generally try to busy myself with something else during these educational episodes, a show on the excavation of amethysts caught me right between the eyes. Why? Because it turns out this particular excavation is a metaphor for my life.

The amethyst vein was completely covered by heavy, sticky, yellow mud. I have no idea how anyone knew where to look, but look they did and more. The gem hunters had to seriously work aside the filth to uncover the treasure. Much like God has done with my little life. He has taken the time to look for me where I couldn’t be seen, moved aside the dirt to get to the good stuff, completely pulled me out of the muck, and shined me up.

Amethyst.

Beauty.

Now my favorite stone. And guess what else? On the mineral hardness scale, it’s a relatively hearty substance, so my 1975 declaration of weakness and worthlessness was dead wrong. 

I think I’m going to wear purple tomorrow.

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