On Saturday, my congregation hosted a women’s event for a number of area churches. The overarching theme and focus of the event was the cross. St. Luke’s cross ministry was lifted up. Ahead of the event, attendees were asked to bring a cross that is meaningful to them and share the story behind it. I thought to myself, “How do you choose?” Then I remembered that the cross chooses us. I immediately knew which one to share.
This is a clinging cross that I gave Dennis early on in our relationship as prayer partners. A dear friend and mentor had given me one like it when I went off to seminary, so I already knew its power and comfort. Cling to the cross. Always.
Not long after Dennis’s death, when I was in the throes of early grief, on a particularly challenging day, I discovered this well-loved cross in his desk drawer. God’s perfect timing. The amount of wear this little cross sustained was jarring. Whether he left it in his pocket with a set of keys or grasped it so tightly in fervent prayer that the finish peeled away, I’ll never know. And it doesn’t matter. In my mind, the cross is part of our lasting connection. When I hold it, I can almost feel his hand in mine: the one that held that cross, the one I imagine now holding onto Jesus’ hand.
Peace, friends.