When we were kids, my younger brother Jon used to have a rock tumbler. When he was in polishing mode, that thing would run and run and run. It seems like the motor would drone on for days. But when the noise finally stopped, he did get some awfully nice-looking shiny stones.
The thing is, turning this lump of mortal clay into a shining example of humanity does take a while. To me, the part about grinding down and polishing up is not an either/or option. Both are necessary.
At least in my case, I found that the bumps of life had to grind me down first. My burrs and pits needed to be smoothed out before the polishing could begin. Yet the transition from grinding to polishing had everything to do with my own self acceptance and a decision to recognize that some of the flaws in my surface were features, not bugs ... unique points of interest, not scars to be wiped away.
So now I've taken up my polishing cloth. I rub my surfaces until they emit a soft glow. The gem is revealed.
After all, my name is Margaret. And Margaret means "pearl."
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