The Wooden Cross

My siblings are going to give me so much flak for this, but someone gave me this small wooden cross. It's smaller than the palm of my hand and made of smooth wood with rounded edges. I don't even know who gave it to me.

I was just working like usual when a customer came up to me and gave it to me. First, I was too stunned to speak then the woman said, "It's a cross."

"Yes, I know." I responded, "Thank you!" I tucked it into my pocket and carried on with my day.

You see, recently I had just become a Christian, and my siblings weren't exactly happy. Most of them were a little miffed and cynical at my change of heart. Coming from a criminal family one doesn't just "get forgiven" of all the sins and horrible things we've done.

But I believe I had. I believe God had cleansed my heart. I believed that He was giving me a new start, a new life.

They laughed at me when I said that.

I was more grateful to that woman than she realized. I do believe that cross was some sign from God. I was forgiven, and that simple wooden cross was the proof. I carried it in my pocket constantly. I rubbed it whenever I was feeling angry or nervous. I rubbed it when my siblings called my God a fairytale and when they called me silly for believing in something so childish.

The cross was my lifeline to God. I held it in my hands when I prayed, thinking of the sacrifice He had given, and how grateful I was that cross and grave were empty.

I keep it in my pocket when I work, and my hands brush against it every now and then, reminding me what I stand for, who I represent whenever I leave the house. I do not live for myself. I live for my God.

The cross has knicks and scratches where there used to be none. There are some ink marks from my pen and some dark spots probably from my constant rubbing. It's a little dirty and could probably use a good wipe, but I almost like it more that way. With all its imperfections.

Item type

Jewelry / Valuable

Current Holder

Mark Smith