Stories
The Stained Glass Window
February 8th, 2012 by Marianne Pendergast
When I was seven years old, my natural father took me to the movies at the Strand theatre. In a moment of anger, some harsh words were spoken causing silent pain. Forty years later, during Graham Kendrick's concert, I encountered my heavenly Father and he began a new work in my heart.
This testimony:
I was sitting in the church one Sunday morning, minding my own business. The preacher talked about a Father's love. I tried to quench it, please not now. But the force was too great, it surfaced. It came like a flood; I heaved and cried under the weight of it, please God, please help me; I can't bear the pain.
It came like a flood, a torrent of emotion, unwilling to be controlled anymore. Of course, I didn't even have a tissue. My husband floundering, what to do? Then came the touch, a voice of compassion, my dear sister's hand, come with me, we'll go to the chapel.
I looked at my feet, head bowed in shame. The crowds look away; uncomfortable they silently say a prayer. How can I weave through them? I need to conceal this suffering, this pain. My sister at my side, covering my face; I was filled with shame as I ran to the House of Prayer.
Thank you God, a doorkeeper stood guard and opens the door, I fled the sanctuary and entered the inner room. We cried and we prayed, we acknowledge the truth. Yes, it is our right; we should expect our fathers and grandfathers to protect us. A trust thrown away, but they are sinners. We choose forgiveness. We speak of God's love, His comfort and peace that came down from above. The wound was still there, but the burden now shared.
Vulnerable, we hold each other up and walk out together. My husband sought me, covering me with his arm. Others had compassion and spoke comfort "God heals in mysterious ways".
Oh no, not again, the darkness came in. Father when? When will this pain end? The same spot, the same place. Please, please God let it stay hidden. The twisted road lay before me as I went to the House of Worship.
I sat in the darkness waiting to Praise; it came like a trickle, pushing, striving wanting center stage. Voices shouting and screaming, "You are insignificant!" Focus, focus, God quiets my mind. What is the preacher saying? This is not important. It's a moment, a light affliction . . . then, I hear the song. Gently, softly He whispers, "My Daughter, I love you. I came from above to tell you your special, to give you my love. Let Us open that spot, let Us see the blemish, let Us pour on the balm, the Great Physician has entered. Let Us wash it in blood, let Us cleanse it for good; so the Creator of all can dress and keep you, look up, up above. Come Daughter, give me those ashes and hold nothing back. Come let me make you whole. Come share in my glory, look up; let me lift your head. My Daughter, My Bride -- come, come up higher; I want you by my side.
As I sat in His presence and allowed the weight of God's Glory to press against those ashes, eternity comforted the momentary pain. The weight spoke the truth, a price greatly paid. A trust highly valued, precious, the same. The ashes transformed into a small piece of glass reflecting, shining; now a mosaic pane on the journey of love.
The stained glass window traveled from Seymour to Bethel and sat in a new place. Together we walk in faith, hope and grace; holding God's truth, running the race. Each stained glass pane radiates a story, seeking God's Glory, redeeming, restoring, reviving, transforming and always adorning His Bride.
So now, my Precious Daughter, it is time to wake up, it is time to get ready. It is time to prepare, let us prepare a straight way. A Bride of many members eagerly watching, expecting our rest, looking up for our Bridegroom, the King of Glory. Each of us valued and important, trusting, loving and contributing a special strand in the Lord's wedding garment; His train of Glory!!