Stained Glass Rose

Voices whisper, 

       coon,
                                         lull
They tell me vivid tales of this beauty I can create
This pattern I might replicate.
There lie broken pieces on the floor, the glass that shattered long before.

I don't remember what it used to be, but as the voices entice, a future masterpiece I begin to see.
The black, cold hands guide mine at first,
hand me the pieces of glass, tell me how the tools work.
They speak so poetically about a fake, pretty rose, though why they care,

I do not know

But to them the stained window is of utmost importance, so I let them guide me as I learn their dance.

Like some confusing puzzle born of darkness, the glass takes shape in a false beauty-
Tainted by the brokenness...

Before I've yet completed half the work, these cold, cruel companions     abandon.

        I'm left    alone    in the dark

And in that darkness- I struggle.

There's nothing else I could do, so alone I work to solve this shattered puzzle.

Day in
                 Day out

Until my hands are cut and bleeding from this goal my soul keeps needing.
I must complete this shattered art, for if I don't, all I know will be smashed apart.

Tears mingle with the translucent until my eyes blur and my hands are spent.

"No more, no more,"

I softly cry, until I've lost my will and my tears run dry.

But look-

There comes a figure, bright color in the distance,
A silhouette of Joy and Peace against which I've no resistance.
He picks up the art I've spent my soul creating, that piece which in weariness I've started hating.

He lifts as though to smash and I fight-

Try to stop Him- from doing the only thing right. 

Though I loathe my creation, it's all I've ever known, and I beg and plead, for I fear the unknown.

And He looks at me- Those eyes-

With all the love in the world-

And against the wall my stained glass identity         is           hurled.

All is lost and to my knees I collapse, but He lifts me in His arms and,

for the first time,

Love, not fear, [entraps].

I am an empty shell as He carries me from my jail cell, the place I've been abandoned,

my self created     hell.

He takes me to His home and lays me down to rest,

Tells me he'll look after me, and fix all that has been messed.

My eyes sink slowly, lulled by the peace His soft voice brings as gently til I fall asleep, He sings

I do not know how long I sleep, but it was for once truly restful,        peaceful, 

deep.

The Savior takes care of me from that point on, dressing my wounds, righting the wrongs.

One day as I lay recovering, He approached with a smile of utmost tenderness and asks-

if I remember that day He shattered the reflection of my brokenness.

In my confusion I cannot reply, but to nod and slowly ask Him, "why?"

"I took the shattered pieces," He gently responds,

And he shows me something he's been working on:

In His hands he holds a flower, a rose of glass, just tinted pink. 

"I made it out of the broken glass I picked up, 

only, I think 

you should have better than a cold, hard replica."

And with those words, He took me by the hand to the front of His house, where there lay empty,

open land.

And behold, this Great Man placed the rose in the dirt, and breathed it to life with only a single word-

Love.

Before my eyes, the glass transformed, the stem took root and 

                                                planted.

It      s p r e a d      and blossomed til all around life grew from where it landed.

I didn't heal immediately, either physically or emotionally. But my Savior breathed the same word into my heart, and so, like the rose, 

I became Living, thriving

Art.

So, much more than my past so stained, my Beloved transformed me into

Beauty: untainted.