the church she had attended her entire life
with her parents and grandparents
who had also been going their whole lives
was a beautiful church-
stained glass full of piercing color
against soft white brick
welcomed any weary visitor.
she would sit in church on sundays,
her view from the choir loft before her,
and she would take in the light filling the room.
the light radiating from warm smiles looking up from the pews,
the light surrounding the melodic mixture of loving voices,
and the light pouring in from the stained glass that took her breath away.
her church was a church of the purest light...
and then one day,
tragedy struck the shining church-
waves of red, orange, and yellow fitfully attacked the soft white brick
and destroyed the precious sanctuary...
she stood outside and watched
as the brave men in heavy suits fought the relentless waves,
as the smoke became suffocating to all those around.
she saw the lines of sadness draw tight across her grandfather's face
as he watched his lifelong home burn.
she couldn't understand why her church of light was falling,
why the purity of her church was being smoldered by ash.
she was angry, hurt, and confused...
as she looked closer,
she realized the light was still there-
could never go away.
because as she looked past the wailing trucks,
the relentless waves of orange,
and the lingering smog,
the stained glass windows were still there,
still pouring out the most beautiful light from the piercing colors,
untouched by the hateful waves.
and her hopelessness disappeared...
because she knew that this church full of light would never stop shining,
and that they all would rise from the ashes still gleaming-
and they did.
*Go here to see my documented experience of my church fire