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Friday, January 4, 2013

Broken Stained Glass Candles... Like Me

So... The holiday season is now over and things are about to go back to "normal"... well, at least as normal as it gets around these parts o.O

For Christmas this year, my youngest gave me this stained glass candleholder made of grout and bits of broken blue glass...



He didn't make it himself (I know this because I was with him at Goodwill when I picked it up and commented on how cool it was... which was about 3 aisles before he told me "Mom, DON'T LOOK... I'll be right back!" and then took off running ^_^), but all the same, I love it just as if he did because of what it says about life and about me.

Allow me to explain.

Once upon a time, I was created as a beautiful, unblemished piece of art, without understanding of life or sin or failure.  Granted, I had some structural flaws-- mainly health issues and a family background that would make life difficult for anyone-- but as far as I could see with my newborn eyes, I was perfect, lovely, and loveable.

http://supercleanpr.com

But then, life happened.  Over time, I was bumped, dropped, knocked around, fractured, and crushed by circumstances.  In response, I lashed out, cutting myself and others with the sharpened edges of my shattered innocence.  My flawless surface began to show cracks where I had been hurt, dribbles of glue where people who loved me had tried to fix me, and scraps of cellophane tape where I had tried to heal myself.  Bits and pieces of me were broken off and embedded in the hearts of those who tried in vain to understand me, just as pieces of them were left buried in me.

http://tektites.co.uk

As I began to see the power that I could have by hurting people, I became not a piece of art but a weapon, wielding my damaged pride like a knife and using my bloodied edges to slash at others before they could pierce me with their own.  Yet the blood was not just theirs, but mine; for every wound I inflicted on them, I took two of my own.  While the damage I did to those around me was spread out among dozens, the damage I did to myself landed only on me.  Every cruel word I spoke, every bruise I left, every vicious tirade I inflicted echoed in my mind, and each word came back to haunt me as I realized that everything I said had been true... about me.  I cut others so that I could forget that I had been cut myself.

Once I was an innocent; now I was a monster.

Once I was whole; now I was deformed.

Once I was beautiful; now I was broken.

My original form was lost, my once-shiny colors and designs covered by dirt and shattered by situations and choices.  Like broken glass littering the midnight street, I had become ugly and useless, a cruel glittering of danger waiting only for the distracted feet of my next victim to tread upon me.

http://westoftheimagination.wordpress.com
But then...

God steps in.

And bit by bit, He begins to gather up the broken pieces of me.  He cleans them off and sets them aside, separating them by color, shape, and size.

http://earofthewind.com/about

Some pieces He refines, rubbing off the sharp edges and rendering them harmless; others He leaves sharp to be used as tools for His work.

http://boehmstainedglass.blogspot.com/2011/07/octagonal-window-glass-cut.html

Slowly, one by one, He takes each of the broken pieces and places them into a mold.  At first, the design makes absolutely no sense to anyone but Him; in time, however, glimpses of the bigger picture become visible.

http://mosaicartsource.wordpress.com

I write these paragraphs in the present tense because I am still a work in progress; God isn't finished putting me together yet.  I still have some sharp edges and many missing pieces; I still have great big gaping holes where the pieces of my soul aren't quite ready to be put back in yet.  I still feel lost and broken sometimes, and every so often, I accidentally slice open the hands of those who reach out to touch me.  I am flawed and I am broken, and I know that, until the day God puts the final piece of me together and I see Christ face to face, I will always be flawed and broken.

But...

If by my brokenness, other people will see that there is a God and that He is the one who saves me from myself, then it is worth the pain.  If by my flaws, other people can see that God is real and that if He can love a person as messed up as I am, He can love them too, then it is worth it.  If my struggles and my shortcomings and my failures-- and the hope I still have in spite of them-- can show people that no situation is hopeless, then they are all worthwhile.  If my weakness shows God's strength to carry me, then by all means... bring it :-)

Day by day, piece by piece, reminder by reminder, God takes the broken pieces of my life and puts them together into something beautiful again.  Not the same as I was before... that design has been crushed and obliterated beyond recognition, and will never, ever be made whole again.  But all the same, the end result will be breathtakingly beautiful... and like my broken stained glass candleholder, I think I will love it all the more for the work that He has put into it :-D



And now, for the musical interlude part of the blog...  Here is someone else's video for a song that perfectly captures what I'm trying to say here, only in a more poetical form :-)  Lyrics are below for anyone who needs them...


"Art in Me" by Jars of Clay

Images on the sidewalk
Speak of dreams' descent
Washed away by storms to graves
Of cynical lament
Dirty canvases
To call my own
Protest limericks carved
By the old pay phone

And in Your picture book I'm
Trying hard to see
Turning endless pages
Of this tragedy
Sculpting every move
You compose a symphony
And You plead to everyone
See the art in Me
See the art in Me
See the art in Me.

Broken stained glass windows
The fragments ramble on
Tales of broken souls
An eternity's been won
As critics scorn the thoughts and works
Of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to You
In awe once again

And in Your picture book I'm
Trying hard to see
Turning endless pages
Of this tragedy
Sculpting every move
You compose a symphony
And You plead to everyone
See the art in Me
See the art in Me
See the art in Me.

And in Your picture book I'm
Trying hard to see
Turning endless pages
Of this tragedy
Sculpting every move
You compose a symphony
And You plead to everyone
See the art in Me
(See the art in me...)
See the art in Me
(See the art in me...)
See the art in Me
(See the art in me...)