The Fragrance of the Quince

Think for a moment about a quince.
Its shape is homely, and it is hard as well;
a quince is not something anyone cares to cherish.
A mother who thought nothing of quinces
tossed an ugly one carelessly onto the ground.
Her child, gazing at the quince flung down there,
fetched a small stone and cut it open.
The mother, who expected a worm to crawl out,
snatched the quince from the child in alarm.
At that moment a bright smile spread across her face,
because she had caught the fragrance of the quince.
People treated you like that quince.
‘What could anyone hope for from something shaped like that?’
‘Could a thing that looks like that really have any fragrance?’
But you, whom people did not value and threw away,
I split you open.
The truly sweet fragrance of your faith intoxicated me,
and I came to love you.
From you, whom no one valued,
rises a fragrance of faith so dear to me
that I intend to set you up high and bring many people to breathe it in.
If you want to keep quinces a long time, what do you do?
Don’t you slice them and pack them in sugar, sealed so not even air gets in?
Like slicing you and packing you in sugar,
the hard trials I put you through
are meant to keep you long and show many people the depth of your flavor.
Pray that, like the quince, the fragrance of your faith may last forever.