Tears of Stone

So I was there. Knees on the rock. Kneeling. Covered by the shadow of a white stone cross of sixty feet. Seven times the size of our house. Seven. A giant representation of Sacrifice. Of Humility. Hovering over me like a Father protecting His daughter. Demanding respect – Gently……..Quietly. No one was around – save the deer watching me from the woods. Hands opened. Heart bare. So I was there. And He was there. And we were there – together. I looked up and imagined being at the foot of another cross a very long time ago, on a very different day indeed. I blinked and my spirit saw him there. Imagined. Him there. Hanging. There. Just Me. Just Him. Together. My tears started to blur the image I had created, and it began to rain.

Slowly. But Surely. Soft Rain.

And we were there. Together.

The raindrops blended with my teardrops and we were one. He and I. A girl and her God. And His cross.

You see I go to this place sometimes. It is a secret place. Not so far away from home. But far enough. There is a cross there. A huge hovering powerful mighty majestic cross…..overlooking a beautiful valley. Sunset takes on a different meaning. As does life.

I go there to read and to write and to…..pray. I have gone there for years now. I have prayed there for years now. But, strangely, only at the front of the cross. I would kneel outside of the iron fence surrounding it – about twenty feet out from the cross itself. I was always content to pray there – outside of the fence. Until tonight.

Going on a run at sunset after a long day of working and business plans and budgets and email returning and phone calls. I drove to the little cove where the Cross resides. Beautiful sunset. Beautiful run. As I was running back, I saw the cross upcoming in the distance. Three deer to the side ran away as I approached. I am truly in their world. A spectator. I realized I needed three more minutes to get my time in, so I ran around the path that led behind the cross. A discovery. It’s open! The fence has a giant opening on the backside of the cross and rocky stoned steps leading right up….

To the Foot

Of the Cross

I was not bashful. As I approached it, I was simply humbled. I was glad I was humbled. Soaking it in, I begin to kneel. Not unlike what I often do when I am there. But much different this time. It felt as if I was approaching an old friend I had not seen in a very long time. Looking them in eye after being unable to see their face for ages. I was alone there. Strangely, I am usually alone there, but for some reason I did not feel alone – not alone at all. I was....... Together.

Togetherness is one of the sweetest gifts we are given. It is a warming of the soul. We can go through so much more when we are simply, well, …………not alone. My mind goes back to Congo. I am in front of 50 orphans that ALARM had sponsorsed in Goma. I was amazed at their pain, and I was equally amazed at their strength. I had just met the most traumatized little boy I had ever seen. He was around six. He came into the room and was showered with the gifts ALARM had provided for them. His eyes were as blank as his face. Nothingness. Flat. Somewhere far far away in a land of protection that he had not chosen to go willingly. He had gone there out of protection from a heart so broken and pain so unbearable that he simply could not live in it. So he lived detached from the reality around him. Emotional Survival. I was asked to say a few words to the children. I remember just drawing a blank. I was there, but there was nothing coming out. I looked back at the women I was with and when I turned back around, God provided. I told them that even though they were orphans on earth – they were not alone. That God was their heavenly parent. He was their mother. He was their father. He loved them more than they could ever imagine. I had them look around at each other and see the faces of their brothers and sisters. I asked them to hold hands as we prayed together. I told them that they

Were. Not. Alone.

You see going through hell is one thing, but going through hell holding the hand of someone who is there to comfort you is vastly different. Togetherness – such a sweet gift.

My mind drifted back. I was there, on the fifth step from the top of the steps. Kneeling. Soaking in the shower of rain as a covering.

No, I was not alone at all. He and I. Togetherness. I saw the top of the steps at the very bottom of the cross, and I was drawn to go there. So I did. Looking up and up and up to the top. Imagining the crown he would be wearing. Then looking down and down and down. Imagining the nail he would be bearing. I reached up and touched the cross at the very bottom. I was…..bashful. Touching the cold wet stone of the cross, imaging I was touching the feet of my Savior. A powerful moment to say the least. And all that came out was:

“Thank you…. I just want to Thank You”

And so I did.

The rain became stronger. The thunder louder. My tears heavier. And I simply did not want to leave. Feeling as close to my Lord as I had felt in some time. Together. He and I.

Walking away I looked back and my mind’s eye could still see him there. Looking at Me. Me, Looking at Him. It was as if I was leaving my first love. I was. But I wasn’t. He is my first love – and possibly my last. But, as First Loves go – He will ever be etched in my heart. Whether that be at the foot of a massive white stone cross or in the middle of a room full of orphans. We will and will always be

Together. Forever.

And as I write this Mr. McDonald sings…......

“What a beautiful God.” And so He is.