I was a preacher’s child, so I grew up in churches.

I spent a lot of time looking at stained glass windows on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings.

Not because my Daddy’s sermons were boring.
But because preachers practice their sermons like singers working on a song, and when you’ve heard the same one several times, your mind tends to wander when you hear it again.

Some of the stained-glass windows were inspiring, some were bland, and still others were works of art.

Take the glorious Tiffany windows I starred at for hours as a senior in high school for instance. They radiated religion out into the world with their intricate patterns and rich, jewel-tone colors. I remember wanting to wear Mary’s blue velvet dress to the prom.

During middle school, I starred at geometric squares of harvest gold and avocado green in the sanctuary of a coal-country church. They matched the appliances in our kitchen.

When I was in first grade, the church had windows that were tinted a pale white.

They were just like the windows in the bathroom at school: frosted to keep peeping Toms from watching little girls pull up their skirts.

My son grew up in churches, too.
He’s 30 now and he was telling a friend of mine that he knew she was important to him because her color was in his soul.

Intrigued, she said, “What do you mean by that?”
He answered, “Well, when we take out first breath, our souls are crystal clear.

Then life happens to us.
Each person we meet adds their color to our soul. Some people touch us with love and soft colors, others touch our minds or imagination and splatter us with vibrant colors. And, of course, meanness and sorrow add the dark colors that make the shadows in our soul.”

Love and beauty, sorrow and pain.

These are the things that change our crystal-clear souls into colorful stained-glass.