My Cross

I found an old jewelry box at a yard sale years ago. It lay open with baubles and chains draped over it like a pirate’s treasure chest. While looking through the booty I spotted a shining gold cross. I gently untangled its dark chain and found the price tag. It read “$1.50”. I was elated as I made my purchase.

My joy dissipated on Sunday. I thought, “I’m not good enough to wear this beautiful cross.” Guilt and fear weighed heavy on my mind and the cross lay in my jewelry box.

I went on a Christian retreat three years later where I finally accepted God’s love and forgiveness for this sin-filled, moth-eaten child of God.

I began wearing my cross on Sundays. For eight months, I experienced a freedom that turned my sorrows into joy. I testified at every opportunity no matter where I was.

After my accident, I fell back into feeling unworthy. Paralysis left my body without sensation and uncontrollable. Depression wrapped its tentacles around my heart and soul choking life out of me. 

I came to myself through the immovable love and encouragement of my family and close friends. From then on, I wore that cross daily to remind me that Christ died for me.

I became ill a few years ago and stopped wearing my jewelry, as I didn’t get out of bed much.

One day I wanted to wear my cross. My caregiver and I couldn’t find it. I said, “Well, I hope whoever has it is blessed by it.

That cross can’t be replaced but no one can steal my faith. The empty cross is proof that Jesus lives and my faith is strengthened each time I see one.

In Christ,

Berta

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