The Cross

Happy Sunday Dear Reader. I'm crabby this evening. Tomorrow is Zach's birthday, so I baked his cake earlier. Do you know how hard it is to bake a cake when you can't have any? Gestational diabetes is stupid and I miss carbs.

Anyway.

After my sappy last post, you learned just how dramatically my life has changed over the course of the year. I had originally planned on writing more about that today but I'm just not feeling sentimental and mushy. Instead I'm just going to tell you about a moment in time I keep replying in my head.

In my hometown there is gigantic white cross off the East side of the highway. It sits in the middle of an open field that was clearly farmland at some point and has since found itself the future home of a Christian learning center and proud holder of said cross. The piece of property is the typical heartland beauty, fence rows lined with scrubby trees, Bermuda grass growing in wild patches, handfuls of little weed like flowers are scattered over the area. It's simple and still somehow breathtaking.

When that cross was erected, I remember being in awe of it's beauty and being ashamed that my little town would support such an obvious waste of funds that could have gone to the school or some charity. I was just torn emotionally on the landmark, but I still found myself driving by it with Robbie and telling her why it was there and what it meant.

I should mention that at the time, my relationship with myself and any form of organized religion was quite strained. I wanted to believe in God, but I felt like I was standing outside of the fence while I watched other people find themselves and their faith.

I wasn't part of the crowd. I was uninvited.

On one particularly bad day I was driving home from my mother's house when something just hit me. I wanted to disappear, to end all of my struggle. At the same time I was passing that cross. I couldn't help but notice the line of trees on the fences and I thought something along the lines of how it was a perfect representation of my life. Forever kept on the outside. Never getting to cross over and join the crowd and always lonely. I was so angry with God and myself and the world. How could I just be pushed to the side like that time after time? Why should I be forced to carry such hurt in my heart constantly?

Flash forward to present day. I have clearly dealt with many of my issues, and I'm doing much better mentally thanks to hard work and a whole lot of love and support from Zach. But that day still nags at me. I can hear the thoughts in my head. I can see the the cross and the trees kind of blur as I drive past. I can feel the same anguish. I just can't get past this small paragraph in my story.

Last Sunday at church the message was good as usual, but it hit home for Zach. Something resonated with him and he had a moment that was absolutely heartbreaking and healing all at once. It was something I had never experienced or witnessed before. He just simply let go.

If you've ever seen this happen before, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Something just changes in the room. It is serious and inspirational, and most likely at least a handful of people will cry. It's very intense and basically indescribable.

I know you're thinking that I just jumped topics here, but we are coming full circle. Seeing my husband experience something so personal and monumental has weighed on my mind greatly. He was raised in the church, so this is nothing new for him. But when you are someone who is new to the fold, it has a much deeper impact.

What if seeing that brought the cross memory to the forefront of my mind because it's time to just simply let go of all of my baggage? How does one even begin? I have so many unanswered questions and I am searching for answers, but what if that was my answer? This is something that is going to take some pondering, praying, and a lot of coffee to figure out. But maybe, just maybe, for the first time in my life I am on the path to being a whole, healed, soul.