This little glass cross I hold in my hand, 
Not born of gold, but common sand,
Forged from the discarded, once humble, once plain,
Now etched with a symbol that carries His name.

Its surface is flawed, a ripple, a scar…
Yet light dances through it like grace from afar.
The round side, a lens, magnifies truth,
Revealing the cross with the wonder of youth.

No two the same, each one a surprise,
Like snowflakes or sunsets that color the skies.
Its beauty not perfect, but perfectly made,
A whisper of mercy that never will fade.

I see in its shimmer the love that won’t end,
A Savior who calls me His child, His friend.
Though small in my palm, it speaks loud and clear…
Of hope, of redemption, of drawing LOVE near.

So I carry this treasure, this glimmering sign,
A reminder that the broken can still be divine.
For in every flaw, The light finds a way…
To shine through the cracks and brighten the day.

Poem Inspired by “The Cross In My Pocket” poem that accompanied the metal crosses my Mom would give when I was young…and “River’s Treasure,” the flat decorative glass gems I toss in our flowerbeds for my niece to discover like Easter eggs…year round.