The stained glass is calling me.
Today I will not refuse.
I will be more than shattered if I stay here.
It does not take long to reach the church. I let myself in through the side door with the key from my velvet necklace.
Everywhere is dark and empty.
Like my life.
The steps to the loft are shadowed and dusty, but I donít mind.
I would wade through clouds of dust and darkness to find the comfort here.
Once I am past the storage boxes, I see the circle on the floor. A round kaleidoscope of color brings the tiniest bit of cheer to my soul.
A yellow sliver of light illuminates an old pillow, my throne.
Holding my breath, I ease into the light and then sit down.
For a moment, everything is magical and silent. I envision Angel whisperings floating through the wooden rafters, a delicious shiver runs up my arms.
How thrilling to be a real princess.
Even better to be Godís princess.
I find my breath and my flower journal.
Curling up under the window, I ration out a handful of jellybeans.
One of each color, my treat for this special time between my soul and Godís love.
The sunlight warms my hands as I open the journal to a blank page. Pen in hand, poised over page, I take a deep breath and let everything out.
Dear Heavenly Father, I wish that I could see my bottle. The one with all my tears inside. Is it made of stained glass? I bet itís half full by now. I feel like the millions of tiny rainbow pieces that are fitted together to make something beautiful. I donít feel beautiful right now. I hurt. All over inside. I miss Mom and Dad so much. I know you gave me some great foster parents, they really are awesome. Iím just having trouble with my foster brother.
I only have eight jellybeans left. I choose a blue one, to help me keep a cool head while I write about J.P.
J.P. doesnít seem to care about anything. I donít understand how he can be so cruel. I lend him my things all the time. I thought thatís what brothers and sisters do, but when I asked him for my pastels back, the ones Dad bought me, he threw such a fit I didnít know what to do.
Sometimes I think you made me to be a statue. I can stand so still and silent in the middle of anything, almost, it seems. This is where I feel like the solid piece of glass, thrown to the ground and smashed to pieces. I am always getting into troubleÖfor helping him. Iím so tired of being called stupid, bratty and spoiled.
Every word is a hammer on one broken shard. Grinding the slivers into flecks of dust. You know who and what I really am, even when I donít want to know anymore. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be spoiled. No more hand-me-downs. For once, to have almost everything and not have to want practical things like a new toothbrush and matching socks. A sock full of jellybeans would be nice too.
There are two jellybeans left. A yellow and purple. I suck on the purple one.
Stained glass windows are stuck together to make a mosaic of beauty. Daddy, whether this makes sense or not, pick me up and put me together the way you want me to be. Let your light shine through me to be a rainbow to everyone I see. Thank you for my special place here in your house. Thank you for wanting me for choosing me. It feels good to be wanted.
A tear splashed on the yellow jellybean.
Popping the bit of sunshine in my mouth, I close the journal, threading the pen through the wire rings.
Salty sweetness explodes in my mouth.
I close my eyes and let the rainbow fill me.
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