My Heart's Mosaic

Some people run from the past as soon as it's created.
I guess I have a different approach.

If my heart were a very large room filled with stained glass windows,
One of them lay in front of me in pieces.

As I stand and look at the shattered glass before me,
I crouch down to look more intently at each piece.
I hold each one up to the light.
Those pieces too marred to let light shine through,
are tossed aside.
But as I sift through them all,
I find that there are so many pieces still intact,
each one encompassing a different beauty,
still brilliant in color and transparency.
These I hold onto.
These I hold dearly in my hand.
But as I continue to sort,
I see that my hands are filled.
I realize that my small hands can't hold them all,
and I need a safe place to set such fragile pieces.
As I look up, hands are extended toward me.
Strong, gentle hands,
big enough to hold every piece.
In one hand the marred, and in the other the unscathed.
I sit down beside Him, and we start to design.
laying out each piece into a beautiful work of art.
But before I know it, EVERY piece is used.
Even those I deemed blemished beyond redemption.
I start to see that He sees things much differently,
and I now see the beauty in every detail,
every finishing touch.