Stained Glass Windows

Staring at the stained glass windows was actually an act of worship.

The very doing of it must have wrapped my heart in His love.          

(And safety)

Not even, did I know about it.

Not then.

I am beginning to know it only now.

How sweet and beautiful is the protection of the Lord.

Saved for a PURPOSE!

 

This is what was spoken into my heart during worship at a recent conference.

There were two main topics; one of which was human trafficking.

The speaker had a list on her power point with three columns.

If one or more items were chosen from each column, then a circumstance would be considered human trafficking.

I didn’t take notes like I usually do, but without being all that specific;  I can tell you I was shocked when I identified with many things on this list.

Never had I thought of my life as being trafficked, and I don’t think you could call it that, but I could sure relate.

I was never taken away from my family, but for almost as long I can remember, I had been forced to do things against my will.

Things I knew didn’t feel right; things that made me feel shame.

What a deficit to begin a life with.

Where does the stained glass come in?

Before I remember even going to church, I remember lying in my bed and looking out at the night sky.

The leaves were gone on the tree, and I “imagined” the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus, right up there in the tree.

I don’t even recall church because I was so young.

I don’t think I knew “Jesus loves me this I know” or how I even knew about Mary and her baby, but I do recall that seeing them there gave me a great peace. 

When I mentioned it to my mom she must have poo-pooed me, because I never spoke of it again, only tried to re-create it for the sense of calm it gave me.

Trauma and loneliness came again and again and I tried to re-create it even more times. 

Although I didn’t see it with my eyes again, I found I could, if I concentrated enough, experience that peace and calm.

Then, when I was around 7 or 8, the drama in our home life became even more intense.

I remember lying in the bed and looking out at the trees again. 

It was a different house, with a much bigger tree, and there, in the night sky, was Jesus, holding a rod in one hand and a lamb in the other.  His robes went to the ground.  His face was serene.

I didn’t dare tell anyone, but I knew that He was there to watch over me. 

I slept in peace that night.

We moved one more time, and we began going to a Lutheran church.

There, to my surprise, were enormous stained glass windows, and there, right above me and to my left, was Jesus, holding a rod in one hand and a lamb in the other.  His robes went to the ground.  His face was serene.

I never listened much to the sermons, I was just too squirmy, but I did at times, stare at those stained glass windows until I felt at peace.

I did that until I was in high school and we changed churches to one with plain blue glass.

The peace I felt during those times didn’t make the things in my life any easier; there was always drama and trauma.  Always.

But there, dotted at strategic times, there were little places of peace.

What I can recognize now, is the peace that was scattered throughout my years of seeking solace from the trauma, was actually protecting my heart.  Keeping it safe from irrevocable harm, until a later time.

Now I know that what I sought was peace, but not as the world gives, but peace that only Jesus can give.

“The world didn’t give it to me, and the world can’t take it away”

So what was spoken in my heart during worship in that recent conference, suddenly, amazingly, sounds like truth.

An act of worship.

Worship of a God who knew what I needed, before I did.

Worship of a God who wrapped my heart in His love, and protected me from the world.

He so desires to do the same for you.

For a purpose.

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