From a child, I remember a cross being on the dash of our family vehicle. I cannot say when it first appeared, it seems as though it was always there. Even as a family of 10, we always had only one vehicle. Over the years, the vehicles would come and go but the cross was always there.
It has been many years now since my sweet mum has been able to drive but the family has maintained her car as a backup for anyone who might need it. When I go to visit, I always drive her car rather than rent one.
I remember clearly one day on my last visit to Wisconsin, when my attention was brought to the cross. I had left my sister’s house and was driving to visit my mom at her memory care facility. As the days of metal dashboards has long passed, the little cross was propped up on the center console, no longer having use for it’s little magnetic base. As I picked it up and held it, tears came to my eyes. Memories of my dad came flooding back. Memories of youthful days with my mom swirled in as well. When I came back to the present, I carefully placed the little cross back in its special spot. Although I never mentioned it to anyone, I recall wishing that one day it might come to me.
Yesterday was a difficult day. Brian’s doctor sent us to hospital for a STAT test to rule out a pulmonary emobolism and an echocardiogram. It was a long day. Emotionally exhausting. Upon returning home I found a small package in my mailbox. It was from my baby brother. What in the world would Dean be sending me? I opened the package, and there wrapped carefully in layers and layers of paper towel was the cross. I burst into tears.
I know this to be true. Through my brother, God was letting me know that just as he had heard my call that day in my moms car, he is hearing my call now. This time I call out on behalf of my precious husband. And although these are difficult times, these words come to comfort me.
“I know Who holds tomorrow and I know Who holds my hand.