The Littlest Cross

The Littlest Cross


Several years ago I was invited by a colleague, Debbie, to attend her daughters' wedding. I felt honored, and of course I said yes. However, one thing I have noticed about myself, is that I am not a real social animal. I socialize all day long with students in classes and teachers at other times and by the time I get home I am just ready to chill out. I kind of feel like a fish out of water in many social situations; I'm pretty introverted, in spite of my over the top performances in the classroom.

Now it just so happens that the place where the wedding took place in Dunwoody is in the same plaza that my church was in when I was a teenager growing up- a little place called Calvary Baptist Church. There were larger, grander churches elsewhere in the neighborhood, but this place was special. It was pastored by a wonderful, beautiful man, Reverend Bob Becknell. I stopped by to see if the quaint old church was there, but when I arrived, the building was gone, a victim of "progress." All that was left was sort of a waist high wooden wall against a small hill on the side. An automobile brake shop stood in the place where Calvary Baptist Church once was. I remembered the people I knew there, and the blessing it was to have been a part of that.

So I'm all dressed up in a tie (ugh!) and everyone knows one another and they are all milling about after a beautiful ceremony, getting eats and generally having a grand time. I'm feeling kind of lonely, even surrounded by people, so I mosey out by the foyer away from the crowd where there are windows that peek through foliage and trees past the front entrance into the sunlight. I'm getting a little misty, thinking that Reverend Bob is probably long gone by now, along with the church, wishing I could speak with him once more. (That's beside the fact that Mr. Perpetually Single himself is at a wedding, but that's another ball game.) I happened to glance out through the green leaves through the window, and what to my surprise should I see?

Off in the distance, well past the plaza on a hill, a small cross on the steeple of one of those large churches was peeking through as the wind moved the leaves aside. I watched that little cross for a long time, just looking out through that window. As I pondered at why I should see this cross, here, now, I felt a peace come over me. It was as if God was reminding me that He had not forgotten me, or the people I once knew and the times we had there. I cried, but kept myself together.

Sometimes God speaks to us in ways we do not expect or anticipate. The smallest thing, a gesture or a word spoken quietly and with love can have a profound affect on others. It can be a way we share His love... the same way He did that windy afternoon when He reminded me that although the church was gone, neither I nor those who were there with me were forgotten.

G.Houtchens
Armchair coach
Amateur historian