by Max Lucado
I must warn you, reader, before you begin. 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 is now old, winkled from the sun and labor. But the mind that guides them is wise--wise from years, wise from failures, wise from heartache. I am Asmara, merchant of fine stones.
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"He had a leathery face," Josh explained to Eric, "and a snowy white beard. The lines around his eyes were as deep as canyons. He wore a black hat with a short bill and acarried an ebony cane topped with a raven's head.
"We became friendcs in the port city of Morocco, meeting at the same cafe every morning for a summer. He was nearly 90 years of age--an old traveler near the end of his life. I was barely 20, a young missionary on my maiden voyager. He taught me about the one jewel he never held."
"What was that?"
"Read on and see. I was so moved by his story that I gave him my journal and asked him to write it down. The words you read are his. But the lesson he teaches is yours. If you are wililng."
Eric was more than willing. He needed some guidance. That morning at baseball pratice he'd found his friends huddled in the dugout. On the floor was a box of magazines--magazines full of pictures of naked women.
"Go ahead, Eriuc. Pick one up," one of the boys had urged. "I found them in my brother's closet."
"It's okay," spoke another. "No one will know." "Maybe later" was all he could think to say, and he'd hurried out onto the baseball field.
Later he told Josh hew as confused "Maybe the guys are right. After all, it's only pictures."
But Josh wasn't confused. He spoke as if he knew exactly what Eric was facing. "Be careful, Eric. Lust dresses well to please the buyer."
"What?"
"What you experienced this morning could destroy you."
"It was just a magazine."
Josh responded firmly. "It wasn't just a magazine, Eric. It was a magazine that teaches a lie."
"A lie?" Eric was surprised at Josh's firmness.
"That's right, a lie. A lie about love and beauty. Listen to me, Eric. Love is much more than a pretty face or body. Love is from the inside, not the outside."
Josh encouraged Eric to finish reading Asmara's sotry. The teen cracked open the ournal again. The handwriting was broad.
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I am a seller of stones. I travel from city to city. I buy jewels from the diggers in one land and sell them to buyers in another. I have weathered nights on 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.
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"What stone is he talking about?" Eric said softly as he turned the page. Josh kept quiet. The answer come in the next line.
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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 have 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 emralds.
"ONe is true," he would tell me. "The others are false. Find the true jewel."
I would ponder--studying one after the other. Finally I would choose. I was always wrong.
"The secret," he would say, "is not on the surface on the stone; it is inside 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 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 am 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 like of which I've never seen since.
But I contineud looking for someone whose beauty would outshien the rest.
How many times since have I 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 beuty of all. And when you find that gem, hold onto her and never let her go.
For in her you have been granted a treasure worth far more than rubies.
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Eric looked up when Josh leaned forward and peered squarely into the eyes of his young friend. "Turn the page," Josh said, "and read the secret of love."
Eric did, and this is what he saw:
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- adapted from "Tell Me the Secrets" by Max Lucado