Little raw amethyst I ponder upon that I move about in my fingers, I consider things I would ask of you. How was it like to be slowly formed in the dark bowels of the Earth where none but God can see? Did it bring pain or pleasure, or a mixture of the two perchance? What did the forces of nature and providence work upon you to appear in the form you take before me? For you give the appearance of ice, which has trapped a ray of violet inside by some unknown way. By what rational alchemy have you been given such a delightful frame?
But what know? Shall I have you go through further transmutation to see what may come? I could have you cut, grinded, cut, grinded, cut, and grinded until you are determined by a jeweler to have great, little, or no value. I could leave you in your current state. It would cost me nothing and you would not have to endure further trials. But are you content in such a state? And if I should do nothing, the working of providence would cause you to fall into the hand of another? What fate would await you then?
However, such a line of questioning is beyond my station. My place is only to decide what I shall do with the little gem in my hand by my finite imperfect mind, as it is God’s place to do with me what He will with me according to His infinite perfect mind.